


Ishida Dies at the End

by The_Audacity



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:01:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29594574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Audacity/pseuds/The_Audacity
Summary: When Ichigo learns one of his closest friends is dying, it hits him harder than he ever imagined it could. Then he realizes that it’s his fault and there is absolutely nothing he can do to save him.
Relationships: Ishida Uryuu & Kurosaki Ichigo
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout for ToulouseD’s story “Blood Stutter”, a major inspiration for this fic! Title shamelessly nicked from the film “John Dies at the End” but that’s where the similarities end.
> 
> Theme songs: “Watch Me Bleed” by Scary Kids Scaring Kids, “The Ides of March” by Silverstein, and “Autumn Leaves Revisited” by Thursday

Ishida is dying.

Ichigo hears the gut-wrenching news from his own father, of all people.

“What? No.”

“He doesn’t know,” Isshin solemnly adds. “Ryuuken requests it remain that way, for Ishida-kun’s sake.”

“Shut up! Don’t mess around about something like this!”

“…I’m sorry, son.”

Sucking in an angry breath to keep yelling at his dad, to demand why he would lie about such a serious topic, Ichigo pauses at the man’s mournful expression. The single most idiotically jovial person he has ever known appears to be on the verge of genuine, sympathetic tears. Even if Isshin could bring himself to make this type of horrible joke, he wouldn’t go that far. Not when he can see what it’s doing to his kid.

“What the hell are you even saying? Ishida’s fine,” he stubbornly insists, “I just saw him the other day. He didn’t look sick at all.”

“That’s because it isn’t a physical ailment, but a spiritual one.”

Ichigo vehemently shakes his head. “You’re not making any damn sense, old man. I think I would notice if something was up with his reiatsu.”

Glancing down, Isshin spreads his fingers and raises his eyebrows in a clearly dubious gesture. The transformative ordeal Ichigo underwent during the Quincy Blood War improved a lot of his abilities, but it didn’t randomly grant him mastery over everything reiatsu-related. He still misses things, especially with the interference of his own considerable spirit clogging the works. But he wouldn’t miss _this_. Would he?

“Think about it, Ichigo. Out of all your friends, Ishida-kun’s powers have changed the most. He has crossed over the natural limits of mortal capability more than once, taken dangerous steps to control more energy, and sacrificed his own life force to achieve all-important ends.”

“And I haven’t? If Ishida’s dying, I must be a walking corpse.”

“You’re different. You were born with most of your talents already in reserve. You didn’t gain power so much as you _grew into_ it.”

“No, you’re wrong. I’ve seen how quickly he can learn. I’ve witnessed the strength of his resolve. I’ve heard him logic the fuck out of a tough situation. There’s no way he’d endanger himself like that for the sake of…”

“For the sake of saving the world?” Isshin quietly finishes. “With you at his side he did exactly that, burning far brighter than he was ever meant to. Now he’s paying the price.”

Denial swells in his chest, eager to come bursting out of him. Ichigo knows his friend better than this. He has gotten out of more than his fair share of impossible situations when anyone else would have failed. Ishida has even saved _his_ ass more than a few times. Yet, he also knows the ambitious Quincy has a habit of taking on more than he can handle. His captain-class battle with Kurotsuchi is an irrefutable example.

Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he relents, “Even if…even if it’s true, wouldn’t he just become a normal human again? Unable to kill Hollow or sense reiatsu, but perfectly healthy?”

“Restoring his powers the first time combined his soul and his reiryoku inextricably. One cannot exist without the other. Whatever Yhwach did to bolster his abilities seems to have destabilized the delicate balance of spirit power and soul.”

“There must be a way to fix it. There’s always a way.”

“Not this time. Ryuuken would have found it if there were.”

“I don’t believe that. He just didn’t look hard enough. I’ll ask Urahara. I’ll scour Soul Society. I’ll storm Hueco Mundo if I have to!”

A firm grip on his shoulder has him staring into Isshin’s apologetic gaze with a burgeoning sense of unease.

“Ryuuken would have found it, Ichigo.”

Dread blooms in his heart. “No.”

“There’s nothing anyone can do for him. Not even you, son. I’m so sorry.”

Two days later, he’s sitting in class staring at the back of Ishida’s head like he can develop x-ray vision on the spot and peer into his brain to read his thoughts if he tries hard enough. Ichigo hasn’t told anyone else. Inoue and Chad remain blissfully devoid of the roiling monsoon of emotions shredding him from the inside out. If he tells them, they will react the same way he did. They’ll deny it, suggest a cure, and grieve when they come to the devastating conclusion that there isn’t one.

They are better off not knowing. Ichigo almost wishes he didn’t know. Then it wouldn’t be this excruciating just to be in the same room as Ishida, having to pretend everything is fine when all he wants to do is grab him by the shoulders and scream at him for doing this to himself. Why did his father have to tell him?

Worst of all, however, is the guilt bearing down on his shoulders like a craggy boulder because Ishida would be perfectly fine if he had never met a reckless, bull-headed Shinigami Representative nearly three years ago. It’s merely an amplified version of the shame Ichigo suffered after they fought the Menos together and Ishida’s arms were decorated in an array of faint scars. And again after Ishida returned from the skirmish in Seireitei as a scorched husk, utterly depleted of any reiryoku. And again after his rampaging Hollow lodged a sword in Ishida’s gut during the battle with Ulquiorra. And again after a murderous bookworm working with a pathetic has-been who was searching for Ichigo sliced Ishida nearly in half for getting in their way. And now _this_.

He is Ishida’s own personal poison.

“Kurosaki?”

Lowering the shaky hands scrubbing over his face, Ichigo twitches to see the object of his inner turmoil standing in front of his desk. Everyone else is gone, having hurriedly fled school for the day. His guilt quadruples the instant calm blue eyes lock with conflicted brown.

“Yeah?”

“Are you all right?”

He takes it like a jab to the diaphragm, gasping. “Am _I_ all right? Ishida, you…”

“I…what? Class let out five minutes ago; why are you still sitting there?”

“Why are you still here?” he recovers enough to deflect. “Don’t you have club activities or something?”

“I quit most of them this semester so I’ll have more time to study for university entrance exams.”

_Shit_ , he really doesn’t know. Ichigo’s jaw clenches on its own as he shoves his books into his bag and screeches to a stand. They start to walk out of the building and across the lawn together. All this time they’ve known each other and they’ve done this maybe a handful of times. There’s not much point trying to walk home together when they live on opposite sides of town. They also aren’t the sort of friends who frequent each other’s homes after school. Maybe they should’ve been.

“Can I come to your place and study?” Ichigo abruptly appeals. The predictable look of confusion is countered with, “My sisters are having friends over and it’s gonna be pandemonium all evening.”

It’s a total lie but he sells it well. Desperation can do that for you.

“I suppose so. I don’t have much to offer in the way of dinner, though.”

“Let’s stop for food on the way. I’ll buy.”

He gets another questioning glance for that but Ishida’s sense of frugality is far stronger than his suspicion. After a brief visit to the convenience store down the street from his apartment, they are shuffling socked feet across hardwood flooring to collapse on top of a narrow sofa with a bag full of neatly wrapped foodstuffs. The hush that accompanies their meal is unexpectedly oppressive. Only the crinkle of plastic and the rustle of paper dare disturb it.

Ichigo swallows the last of his onigiri a few minutes later and releases a controlled exhale. He wants to ask how Ishida is feeling without sounding the alarm. Wants to touch him to confirm he’s really still here. Wants to meet his eyes and apologize for everything. Wants to watch that bland frown morph into an easy smile. Wants to give back every last second he stole.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Huh?”

Gathering their trash into the empty convenience store bag, Ishida replies without looking at him, “Whatever it is that’s been plaguing you all day. It’s obnoxiously apparent. Would you like to discuss it?”

“N-no,” he stammers, caught off-guard by his perception. “It’s nothing major.”

“Suit yourself.”

Ishida shrugs and rummages through his messenger bag to pull a textbook into his lap. He tucks loose fringe behind an ear and props his head against a lax fist, settling in to read. Ichigo wonders if he would bother studying if he knew his days are severely limited. Isshin admitted they can’t say for sure but Ishida’s father estimates he has a couple of months left before the last wisp of his spirit withers away to nothing. Pale as he always is, it’s not difficult to imagine him just falling over at any moment, lifeless and cold.

His breath hitches painfully at the notion.

“Ishida,” he begins, swallowing back a sour splash of panic, “this is kind of weird, but bear with it. Okay?”

“What are you talking about?”

Rather than answer in words, Ichigo lays his hand on a shoulder and closes his eyes. He concentrates on shutting out everything but the familiar pulse of Ishida’s reiatsu. It’s been a while since he actively searched for it but he clearly recalls the specific minutiae composing his unique signature. Memory firmly in mind, he locks onto the boy’s spirit with minimal effort.

Ichigo delves deeper, analyzing the quality and the scope of it. Compares it with what he expects to be there. He curses aloud at what he finds. The significant reservoir of his potential is practically empty, like a massive well a few drops of water away from barren. Ishida makes a startled noise and shoves him back. Brown eyes fly open to stare incredulously. There’s no chance he hasn’t noticed such an excessive ebb in his own tide!

“Why didn’t you tell me!?”

“I wasn’t aware you needed to be notified every time I’m having a dry spell,” snipes Ishida with an accusatory glare.

“Dry spell? You’re running on fumes!”

“It’s not your problem, Kurosaki.”

“Not my— _not my_ _PROBLEM_!?” he roars, leaping from the couch to face him with irate hand motions. “Are you fucking crazy, Ishida? You’ve known about this all along and you didn’t tell anyone? I had to hear it from my father!”

His eyebrows scrunch as he asks, “Why is your father monitoring my reiatsu?”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what _is_ your point? Why are you shouting at me? Stop overreacting!”

Oh, _fuck_ , he seriously doesn’t know.

Snapping his gaping mouth shut, Ichigo’s heart labors under a fresh wash of horror. Ishida thinks this is temporary, harmless. Maybe his father even told him it is. Inoue and Chad probably already noticed, inquired, and were confidently reassured about it by Ishida himself. From his perspective, it appears as though Ichigo is merely the last to make a critical observation, as usual.

“I…” he tries, temporarily rendered speechless by his own conclusions.

He slowly sinks to the couch cushion from sudden fatigue. It’s all true. Ishida is dying much sooner than later and he has no clue. Ichigo turns to regard him once he has composed his features into something carefully blank. The slight furrow in his brow proclaims he is still pissed but the flat purse of his lips suggests he’s doing his best to contain it. An annoyed sigh is reflected in Ishida’s posture as he visibly lets it go.

“Don’t tell me that’s what you’ve been brooding about all day.”

“Actually, yeah. It is.”

The admission eases remaining ire from his countenance. His eyes slide from Ichigo back to his book.

“No one asked you to concern yourself with such trivial matters.”

Trivial. Right.

It feels like he’s going to puke. A fine sweat has broken out across his forehead and down the back of his neck. His hands are shaking again. Until a minute ago, part of Ichigo was convinced it was a mistake. He can’t pretend anymore.

“You know, I…Yeah, I think I’m gonna head home after all. I bet my dad is on his last nerve trying to handle all those kids under one roof. I should be a good son and help him out.”

Since he never got around to unpacking anything, all he has to do is grab his school bag and stand up. Ishida doesn’t say a word as he walks over to the door and slips his shoes on. He doesn’t stop Ichigo when he pauses in the open doorway. And when he glances back one last time, Ishida doesn’t even look up from his book to watch him go. Ichigo shuts the door behind him with a wavering exhale.

A heavy knock on the chief of medicine’s door promptly yields a muffled word of invitation from within. Ichigo strides into Ishida Ryuuken’s office with an ill-tempered scowl already in place. The man glances up from a file he holds and immediately sets it down. Judging by his expression, Ichigo doesn’t need to say a word.

“Your father mentioned you might stop by. May I assume you’re here to discuss my son?” Again, his face speaks volumes. “In that case, let me save us both some time by assuring you there is no cure.”

“You fixed him once before. Why is this time any different?”

The man releases an impatient sigh and interlaces his fingers above the glass desktop. It’s the first time Ichigo is looking closely at him. The longer he appraises the father, the less he resembles his son. There is something inherently rigid about this man that contrasts strikingly with an endearing softness in Ishida—albeit a softness he rarely deigns to show, least of all to Ichigo, but still.

“It is precisely because I once ‘fixed’ Uryuu that he is beyond help now. That instance was a one-time reversal, an incredibly perilous last-ditch effort to restore in him the power he believed he so desperately needed. It cannot be duplicated.”

“Then try something else! You owe him that much.”

Shrewd eyes narrow indignantly. “What I do or do not owe my son is not up for debate.”

“Listen, I don’t care if you adore or despise each other, but you don’t get to give up on the last of your family just because you disagree with his lifestyle.”

“Are you suggesting I am refusing to save Uryuu’s life solely because he continues to associate with you against my wishes? Why do you think I originally set that stipulation?”

There is a razor-thin, acid-laced warning concealed beneath the casually intoned questions. It’s enough to make Ichigo hesitate on his reply. “I’m just wondering whether or not you’re really motivated to keep searching for a solution.”

A loud smack resounds as he slams a palm onto his desk and rises from the chair with a fiery glower.

“ _There is no solution_ ,” he states so vehemently that Ichigo takes a step back. He reins it in and addresses him with forced composure, “You are just as headstrong as your father…I will say this clearly so that you understand: despite our petty disagreements, I love my son. I would trade my very life for Uryuu’s if that’s what was required. I have dedicated _months_ to his salvation.”

“And…?”

“There’s nothing.” He wilts into his seat as his stern visage crumples in bitter misery. “There is just…nothing.”

They don’t speak to each other for an entire week.

It’s four in the morning and Ichigo is lying awake far too late for the eighth night in a row, laden with a pervasive regret. Each day he doesn’t talk to Ishida is a precious day wasted. Yet, each day he tries to talk to Ishida is a brand new torment. What can he possibly say? What can he do to make the situation marginally less unbearable? Sometimes Ichigo thinks he shouldn’t say anything at all. That he should just keep pretending everything is normal for Ishida’s sake as his father intended. Wanting to reach out to him now feels selfish, like an imposition.

At school, he has been compulsively checking the boy’s dwindling reiatsu and hoping it goes unnoticed while knowing it won’t. Ishida is much better at upholding the farce, electing not to confront Ichigo about his nosiness even once. Instead, he goes through the motions and refuses to acknowledge the spiritual tail he has acquired in the form of a Shinigami’s futile concern. That is _so_ like him.

Ichigo is at his limit.

Reaching for the badge at his bedside table, he abruptly splits from his physical body and leaps from his open window. Ishida’s place is only a few flash steps away. The window has been left open, as well, though he knows he could just phase through the wall if it wasn’t. He has learned some neat tricks since the night he met Rukia.

Ichigo slips through the opening and props Zangetsu against the wall once inside. Ishida is fast asleep in his bed with a hand dangling over one side of the mattress and the covers half kicked off. A light breeze teases dark hair, subtly shifting across his snoozing face.

A wry smile tugs at his mouth when he realizes this is the only way Ichigo could ever sneak up on him. He doesn’t think he has ever been able to watch Ishida without him knowing he was being watched. He doesn’t think he has ever seen a side of Ishida that he didn’t want seen. It’s as if he’s allergic to vulnerability. Ichigo can’t say anything when he acts the same way. He is no stranger to masks, and catching Ishida without his firmly in place feels like a rare treat.

His fingers spread out to delicately brush back the fringe covering closed eyes. The instant Ichigo’s skin touches his, Ishida snaps sharply awake.

“Kurosaki?” he skeptically calls, bewilderment pinching his features and fatigue weighing in his words, “What are you doing here?”

He waits for Ishida to sit up and slide his glasses into place before responding.

“There’s something I need to say.”

“It couldn’t wait until morning?”

“No.”

An exasperated noise communicates what he thinks of that. Regardless, he obligingly scoots sideways to make room for Ichigo to perch beside him on the bed. Ishida rubs at an eye before blinking wearily at him.

“All right. What is it?”

“I can’t ask your forgiveness,” he gravely launches straight into it, “but I need you to hear my apology just once: I’m sorry, Ishida. For every bad thing that ever happened to you because of me, I’m sorry. I would take it all back if I could, I _swear_.”

Sentiment sticks in his throat and smothers whatever else would otherwise be tumbling from his lips. Ichigo seals them shut as he turns away. Although he said all of that with no real expectations of how Ishida would react, it certainly wouldn’t have been what comes next.

“Are you out of your mind, showing up in the middle of the night to accost me with this nonsense!?” The modest space isn’t broad enough to contain the shockwaves of his unleashed fury. “If you think for one second that you can take credit for any facet of my life…Don’t flatter yourself, Shinigami! How dare you think so little of me that I should be deserving of your _pity_? I don’t want anything that useless from you!”

Too stunned to reply at first, Ichigo blinks dumbly in the wake of that energetic tirade. The beginnings of relief tingle along his spine. It is quick to dissipate, however, as he guesses the cause. That Ishida is still this spirited seems like a very good sign but it doesn’t change anything. It merely reaffirms his total lack of awareness.

“It’s not pity, it’s remorse. Big difference.”

“Not from my perspective.” He points at the open space between fluttering curtains and snarls, “Get out!”

Resolutely ignoring the command, Ichigo forges on, “It might be too late to say this but I want to spend more time with you.”

“It is _way_ too late,” harshly agrees Ishida. “Not to mention pointless.”

“Why did we stop eating lunch together at school every day? We should start doing that again.”

“I would rather starve.”

“Let me walk you home from school.”

“I’ll risk terrifying bystanders with _hirenkyaku_ first.”

“We can take turns studying here or at my place. Yuzu will invite you to stay for dinner and my dad won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“I’d sooner flunk out of high school.”

“Let’s drag each other to lame events on the weekends.”

“Why don’t you just drag me back to Hell?”

It is grumbled alongside a roll of his eyes but Ichigo feels the flippant phrase shatter something fragile and hurting inside of him.

“Don’t fucking say that!”

His sudden outrage startles Ishida into tense silence. The weight of his bemused stare is added atop the invisible monolith compressing Ichigo’s heart. It is precariously close to bursting. His head is pounding, swollen with the things he can’t say. Hands ball themselves into helpless fists in the black of his hakama. Sweat drips down his cheek.

“Kurosaki…?”

The shell-shocked quality to Ishida’s tremulous call as he stands and backs away jerks Ichigo out of the thick, despondent fog enshrouding him. He opens his eyes and twitches to feel two more drops slide down his face.

“ _Shit_ ,” he hisses, wiping them away.

“O-okay,” the astonished boy stammers, “Okay, Kurosaki, w-we’ll spend more time together. Just stop…I-I don’t know what to think if you’re like this.”

He springs upright, grabs his swords, and goes to the window. Pausing with one foot on the ledge, he hoarsely repeats, “I’m sorry, Ishida.”

The trip to school the next morning is like a gallows march. He is dreading the very sight of Ishida, much less what he will or won’t say after last night’s mortifying debacle. Ichigo still can’t believe he actually started to _cry_ in front of the boy. It completely blindsided him. Then again, maybe it isn’t so strange considering the last time he felt this anguished over someone was when Rukia was almost killed right before his eyes.

Shoving those thoughts to the back of his mind, Ichigo holds a deep breath and walks into the classroom. He trains his gaze on his designated desk and nothing else. Ears attune to the familiar clatter of his chair gliding backwards as he drops into it. Then his stupid reiatsu ruins these valiant efforts by instinctively seeking Ishida’s. A book is promptly yanked from his bag so he can poke his nose into the open crease and feign literary immersion.

“You’re not fooling anyone, Kurosaki.” A scar-studded hand presses at his wrist to lower the book and Ishida’s unperturbed visage is revealed behind the binding’s sinking edge. “You look terrible. Did you sleep at all last night?”

Ichigo tries to project an air of defiant irritation for about two seconds before he wearily shakes his head. “You?”

“Not since your visit.”

“Sor—”

“I believe you’ve already exceeded your quota of apologies,” he sternly interrupts. “You’re not due another one for quite some time.”

He’s too tired to argue like he wants to. Ichigo sets down his book on a lengthy inhale in preparation for this conversation.

“Ishida, I would be eternally grateful if we could just forget everything I said in your apartment.”

“Not a chance,” he evenly declines. “Unless you’re doing a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde routine, you’re still the same person now as you were then. Emotions that strong don’t disappear overnight.”

“Doctor who?”

He snorts and taunts, “Read a book sometime, Kurosaki.”

They both look at the discarded novel in the center of his desk. Ichigo leans forward to lay his head against it instead. His eyes instantly slip closed. Ishida hums disapprovingly.

“But they make better pillows.”

“Someone with a skull as thick as yours would say that. Come on.”

“Huh?”

Ishida hauls him away from the desk, out of the classroom, down the hall, and up the stairs to the roof. He grows more puzzled with each step, culminating in full-blown disorientation when Ichigo is tugged to sit beside him in a shady patch against the fence. Belatedly, he notices Ishida holding the book he evidently swiped from his desk. Ichigo watches him flip to page one and start reading.

“We’re skipping first period,” he answers the question Ichigo doesn’t voice without moving his eyes from the text, “and you’re taking a nap. You’ll never make it through the day otherwise.”

His tone brooks no argument. Ichigo can’t conjure one, anyway. The surprise fades slowly as he stares at Ishida’s profile. He strives to drink it all in: brow, eyes, nose, mouth, chin, jaw line. Memorizing the features of a close friend. Ichigo realizes he doesn’t have any pictures of him. Not a single snapshot. How would he feel if Ishida died and there was nothing left to remember him by?

A brutal wave of sadness bowls him over, sliding sideways to rest against Ishida’s shoulder. It’s a little uncomfortable and a lot awkward but he doesn’t care because Ichigo can smell his skin and feel his warmth and it means Ishida is still alive, lingering in this moment with him.

Even though the brilliant blaze of his reiatsu has since dimmed to a feeble flicker.

Urahara takes one look at his downtrodden expression and tucks his fluttering fan out of sight. He invites Ichigo into the quiet shop with a welcoming gesture. Hot tea is served at the usual table but no pleasantries are exchanged. The man he loosely calls his first mentor patiently waits for the questions he knows are inevitable.

“Can anything be done?”

“You already know the answer to that, Kurosaki-san.”

His fist tightens around the steaming clay mug. “Ishida’s dad came to you a while ago, didn’t he?”

“Two months ago this Wednesday, I’m afraid.”

The fact that an obstinate old Quincy would deign to beg a shady-as-hell Shinigami for help is more telling than anything else the man said to Ichigo in his office. It tastes like condensed despair on the back of his tongue.

“Will he…Do you think he’ll go to Soul Society?”

“It’s possible,” Urahara reluctantly concedes. “Even if he does, the chances that Ishida-san will remember any of this life once he crosses over are astronomical. He may not appear or sound the same. His personality could be immensely different.”

“Well, don’t sugar-coat it for me.”

“One thing is certain: due to the cause of death, he will never become a Shinigami. He simply won’t have the reiryoku for it.”

“He’ll be happy about that, at least.” Ichigo attempts a dark laugh but it comes out as a short sob instead. Urahara’s gaze lowers, respectfully granting him a sliver of privacy as he struggles not to fall apart. “Will you keep looking? It’s too much but I have to ask.”

“It’s not too much, Kurosaki-san. Of course I will.”

“Thank you,” he sincerely murmurs. His head bows.


	2. Chapter 2

It doesn’t take long for Ichigo to work up the courage to say, “Come over to my house today. There’s something I wanna talk about.”

And to his immense relief Ishida amicably replies, “All right.”

He doesn’t ask questions or glare at Ichigo for it. Ishida doesn’t even seem annoyed as he loops the strap of his bag over a shoulder and falls in step with him outside of the school. They don’t speak along the way but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. Ichigo likes the fact that they don’t need small-talk to keep awkward tension from building between them. It should be awkward after what happened earlier this week when they skipped homeroom to hang out on the roof because, somehow, he woke up from that nap with his head in Ishida’s _lap_ rather than still propped against his shoulder. Quickly sitting upright, Ichigo was too busy blushing to ask whether he had moved in his sleep or if Ishida might have guided him into a cozier position. Now Ichigo will never know—which is probably for the best—but the important part is Ishida didn’t gripe at him for invading his space. Just like he hadn’t teased Ichigo for tearing up after delivering a very vague and unintentionally offensive apology. He is grateful to Ishida for that and he’s determined to repay the kindness.

Calling out the usual greeting to his family when they walk through the front door, Ichigo stops by the fridge to grab two water bottles and a bowl of chopped fruit before they head upstairs. Ishida folds gracefully onto his bedroom floor and cracks the seal of his bottle. Ichigo watches the boy take a sip as he sinks to sit beside him. He takes the lid off the fruit bowl and sets it between them in unspoken invitation. Jabbing his fork into a chunk of pineapple, he pauses with the tines between his lips in minor revelation.

Ichigo starts to stand as he says, “Ah, I forgot to get another—”

“It’s fine.” Ishida swipes the sole utensil from him and uses it to bring a speared strawberry to his mouth. Ichigo blinks stupidly while trying not to think the words ‘indirect kiss’. Isn’t he supposed to be a germophobe? “What did you want to talk about?”

“Uh…” It takes him a second to switch mental gears and get back on track. “Your reiryoku.”

“Kurosaki,” he warns with an irritable tone.

“Hear me out, okay? I’ve been thinking—”

“Rarely a good thing.”

“I’ve been _thinking_ ,” Ichigo continues, giving him an impatient look for the dig, “maybe you just need a jump.”

Ishida stares at him in blatant suspicion. “Excuse me?”

“You know, like jump-starting a car when the battery’s low. What if all you need is another battery to recharge yours?”

“People aren’t batteries.” He slowly enunciates the words as though speaking to a child. Ichigo frowns.

“I know but that doesn’t mean it can’t work the same way.”

“That’s precisely what it means.”

Huffing a short sigh to keep from growling in frustration, he explains, “It’s the same concept as what Rukia and everyone did for me when those Fullbring assholes stole my power, isn’t it? If it worked for me, why wouldn’t it work for you?”

“If you are suggesting I should let you stab me with your sword again—”

“No!” He cringes hard at the referenced memory and Ishida hesitates uncertainly. “God, no. Look, I’m just saying we could try a…spiritual transfusion or something. Like this.”

Ichigo touches his hand but it is snatched away before he can send so much as a wisp of reiryoku into the boy. Hastily rising to escape, Ishida puts some distance between them as he launches headfirst into the debate.

“There’s no such thing as a ‘spiritual transfusion’. The very idea is ludicrous! Even if it wasn’t, you seem to be forgetting the fact that I am a _Quincy._ I highly doubt an injection of Shinigami reiryoku would be beneficial in any way.”

Pushing to a stand, he heatedly argues, “Well, you seem to be forgetting that time you saved my ass from the verge of a total meltdown by channeling my reiryoku through your bow! Pretty solid evidence we’re compatible, don’t you think?”

“It really doesn’t surprise me that you still don’t understand the basics about being a Quincy. I use reishi from the environment to fuel my attacks but it’s not the same as reiryoku. Shinigami abilities function in a completely different—”

“Quincy this, Shinigami that,” Ichigo mocks, advancing aggressively. “Stop pretending you don’t know I’m both. Besides, whether or not it’ll work is speculation no matter how you look at it. There’s no harm in trying so shut up and hold still.”

His grip on Ishida’s shoulder is shoved off. He grabs the boy’s wrist instead, prompting him to grit his teeth and snarl, “Let go, Kurosaki!”

Fingers tighten rather than loosen. Ichigo starts funneling his reiryoku through the link and hears Ishida gasp when he feels it. Color floods his cheeks as his eyebrows converge in growing fury. He fights harder for his freedom until Ichigo has no choice but to trap his other arm, too. Ishida makes a short, strangled sound and glances to his right wrist—where the tiny rings of his silver bracelet are pressing into Ichigo’s palm. He wonders if the Quincy cross serves as a sort of conductor because, judging by Ishida’s reaction, something has changed now that Ichigo is in contact with it. The fervor of Ishida’s struggling increases between one second and the next. Ichigo is left with no choice but to spin the idiot around and hold him against his chest. Ishida’s arms are crossed helplessly over his own chest but that only seems to strengthen his resolve.

“Give it a rest, Ishida, it’s not like I’m hurting you.” Pausing in contemplation, Ichigo asks, “Am I?”

It takes him a moment to respond. Ichigo realizes it’s because Ishida is breathing fast and shallow like he really is in pain. Ichigo’s grip starts to loosen right as Ishida finally answers him. “No, but this—”

“Then quit squirming and let me—”

He cuts himself off at the sound of his door opening. They both freeze when they notice Karin hovering awkwardly in the doorway. One, two, three heartbeats thump in sequence. Then they separate simultaneously, retreating to opposite sides of the room and trying to act cool. Ichigo clears his throat while Ishida fidgets with his glasses, wistfully appraising the window as though considering defenestration over suffering this humiliating scene for one more instant.

“I, uh…” Gaze bouncing between them, Karin dutifully reports, “Yuzu wants to know if Ishida-san is staying for dinner.”

Ishida stanchly states, “No.”

“Yes,” he confirms at the same time. Again, Karin curiously glances at the two boys in turn. Ichigo firmly repeats, “Yes, he is.”

The assertion isn’t denied a second time but Ishida scowls to show he isn’t happy about it.

“Okay…I’ll let her know.”

Ichigo wants to yell at her for bursting into his bedroom without knocking but he knows it will only make this look worse. He waits to hear her footsteps fade past the closed door before rounding on Ishida but he’s already in motion. Shoving Ichigo aside, he marches over to fling the window open and summons his bow. Ishida fires a massive, red-tinged arrow up into the sky with a grimace that makes Ichigo want to apologize. He pushes the impulse away and focuses on his agitation instead.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing? The whole point is to _keep_ the reiryoku.”

“It doesn’t. Work. Like. That,” he growls through gritted teeth.

Clearly, Ishida is pissed. More than he was when he thought Ichigo was pitying him, by the looks of it. He refuses to glance at the Shinigami whose donated spirit he is actively rejecting with another fired arrow, slightly smaller than the first. His hands are shaking. He bites his lip as a third arrow is loosed harmlessly toward the stratosphere. It is the smallest of all and closer to its natural vibrant blue hue. His bow vanishes and Ishida doubles over to prop a hand to the windowsill, softly panting from the effort.

“Are you all r—”

“Do you have any idea,” he irately begins, pushing upright to clench the front of Ichigo’s shirt in a fist, “how hard it is for me to summon Ginrei Kojaku these days!?”

“Then why did you?”

Ishida takes a breath to voice a scathing retort but it turns into a gasp as he suddenly slumps sideways. The hand Ichigo reaches out to steady him is slapped away. Ishida lets go of his shirt to lean against the wall, shutting his eyes for a handful of seconds as he concentrates on getting his heart rate under control. Ichigo is worried. He’s not acting any livelier after the attempted ‘jump-start’. Actually, it appears as though Ishida is doing much worse.

“As I was trying to tell you,” he begins, eyes still closed, “your reiryoku can’t magically become mine, regardless of how much of it you force into me.”

“But those arrows…” He trails off when Ishida sighs wearily and moves to sit on the nearby edge of his bed. Ichigo resists the urge to join him and considerately keeps his distance. Watching Ishida slide off his glasses to rub at the headache between his eyes, he blurts, “I’m sorry. I really thought it would help.”

Glancing up at Ichigo, he sardonically says, “I know. That’s why I shot at the clouds instead of you.”

He shuffles his feet and avoids looking directly at Ishida’s face. Without the sharp geometric lines of his glasses, the delicacy of his features is emphasized. It’s weird. It’s doing weird things to Ichigo’s stomach and he doesn’t like it so he averts his gaze. Noticing his foot-shuffling and gaze-averting, Ishida scoots over to make more space, despite there being plenty of space already available. Ichigo takes the hint and sits next to him.

“Sorry.”

“Just don’t try it again,” Ishida half-heartedly admonishes. “And stop apologizing. I’m sick of hearing you say ‘sorry’.”

“Right…”

That makes two of them. Ichigo thinks it would be great if he could stop creating new reasons to say ‘sorry’ in the first place. They lapse into a smothering silence as he broods about that. Ishida finishes massaging his headache and puts his glasses back on. Ichigo feels like it’s safe to look at him again but he’s wrong. The moment their eyes meet his stomach resumes wriggling unpleasantly. Maybe it’s the guilt. Maybe it’s the pineapple. Maybe it’s something else entirely. Whatever the cause, he does his best to ignore it and waits for Ishida to share some of the thoughts Ichigo can sense flitting around just behind his gaze.

“You still don’t understand why it can’t work, do you?” He shakes his head. Ishida points to his alarm clock. “Think of it like this: I’m the clock and my reiryoku is the backup battery. In that analogy, yours is the current running through the cord. See where I’m going with this?”

Oddly enough, he does. Ichigo ventures, “Electricity can power the clock but it won’t charge the battery?”

“Exactly. Your reiryoku can serve as a source of energy for Ginrei Kojaku in place of mine, but that’s all it can do.”

“Should’ve said so from the start.”

Eyes narrowing in a prelude to annoyance, Ishida changes his mind when Ichigo smirks teasingly. He smirks back. Just that easily, the tension is defused and the air feels lighter. The fruit bowl by his left foot is retrieved and offered to Ishida as a symbol of truce. The gesture is accepted as he stabs a strawberry and bites into it.

Catching Ichigo staring, he asks, “What?”

“You really like strawberries, don’t you?”

The smirk spreads a little wider. “So what if I do?”

They try the ‘spending time together’ plan for several weeks. Everything he mentioned they should do and then some. Only it’s more accurate to call it the ‘spending nearly every waking moment together’ plan. Ichigo likes it. He likes it so much, in fact, that he keeps mentally throttling himself for not suggesting it sooner.

It’s not all cartoon hearts and singing bunnies, though. They fight a lot at first. That’s a given.

Yet, once they break past some indefinable barrier composed of their oversensitive egos, something changes. It becomes easier to let down their guard and really _talk_. They already knew each other well but there were unspoken taboos about their lives. Topics they never would have touched on before are now fair game. For instance, he learns a lot about the family Ishida never used to mention. The grandfather whose guidance he still relies on and the mother he still misses dearly.

That is probably why Ichigo dreams of Kanae tonight.

The framed photograph he finally noticed in Ishida’s apartment the other day comes to life in his subconscious. She is soft-spoken and kind-eyed. The way she gently smiles and raises a hand to smooth over Ichigo’s cheek reminds him of Masaki.

They knew each other, he suddenly realizes. Their mothers lived in the same house as friends by shared circumstance before he or Ishida were born. Did they ever bring their sons together for play-dates? Did Kanae watch a tiny, frolicking Uryuu and wonder what sort of man he would become? Did she guess Ichigo would play a part in it? Did she suspect he would eventually be the death of her baby boy?

As if intuiting his morbid thoughts, dream-Kanae slowly shakes her head and pulls him in for a soothing hug to dispel them. Ichigo doesn’t deserve her understanding, her compassion, or her forgiveness but he accepts them anyway. He allows her light to pierce the blackened, hollow places within him that seem to expand a little more each day. She whispers to him of connection and fate and love. When he is tranquil again she pulls away and points to someone approaching in the distance. Someone who looks just like her.

Ichigo jolts awake and upright with a ragged gasp. His chest is aflame with unbridled agony because the blissful solace of Kanae’s promise is already fading into a meaningless memory. He lifts a hand to press over his shuddering heart, blunt nails digging into the flesh as if they could tear through to rip the traitorous thing from his core.

An auspicious noise at his window keeps him from attempting amateur surgery. Ichigo glances up to see the crack he left in it widen and gape. The pajama-clad form that breaches it lands without a sound and gracefully straightens. Ishida smirks at the astounded expression his stealthy entry inspires.

“You called?”

“What?”

The smile vanishes as he gets a better look at Ichigo, starting forward in worry. He can only imagine the frightening picture he makes in the wake of such a demoralizing dream.

“Kurosaki, what happened?”

“Nothing. Just a nightmare.”

“You’re bleeding,” he notes with a frown.

Ishida pulls a long sleeve over the heel of his hand and uses it to blot at the red crescent cuts welling on Ichigo’s bare chest. Noting the stains gathering on pale cotton, he rejects the boy’s attentions.

“It’s nothing,” Ichigo repeats more adamantly. “What do you mean I called you? I was asleep until just a minute ago.”

Rather than reply, Ishida closes his eyes in concentration for a moment. A spool of crimson thread spiraling out of Ichigo manifests between them. At his baffled look, Ishida holds up his wrist in emphasis. The loose end of Ichigo’s reiraku is securely knotted there, lightly tugging to urge him ever nearer to its source. His mouth falls open on an embarrassed groan.

“There are more conventional ways to invite me over. Although I suppose this is preferable to you breaking and entering.”

“Look who’s talking.”

The smirk is back. “Wonder who I learned that from?”

“Some stupid miscreant with no manners, I bet.”

“That might be a bit harsh. At least the way he woke me was considerate.”

Ishida brushes fingers through orange fringe as he says it. He carries the motion down the side of Ichigo’s face, and he finds his eyes sliding shut as he leans into it just a little. Kanae did the exact same thing in his dream. A ghost of the peace she elicited is invoked in him once more. He reaches up to clasp Ishida’s hand in his without thinking. That thoughtful blue gaze is on their linked hands when Ichigo dares to look up.

“I don’t know how to make it let go.”

“It’s fine,” he mumbles, still staring at their hands. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Ichigo releases the inappropriate hold and scoots away for good measure. He wants to apologize for accidentally summoning him here, but he knows how that will go over so he bites it back. About to tell Ishida he’s free to go home and ignore the obnoxious tether at his wrist, Ichigo doesn’t make it past the first syllable. Ishida toes off his shoes and unfurls on the bed beside him. His fingers interlace atop his middle after abandoning his glasses to the nightstand. Then he has the nerve to blink at Ichigo’s astonished expression as if to wordlessly ask ‘what?’ like this is totally normal.

“Uh…Ishida?”

“I’m not about to go all the way back home when there’s a perfectly good bed right here.”

He doesn’t understand what’s going on but he knows Ishida will get annoyed if he pushes the subject. So Ichigo holds his questions and eases down to lie next to him. The quiet meter of their breathing highlights a significant silence. Minutes pass and he wonders if Ishida has already fallen asleep. He certainly appears relaxed enough. Aside from the nigh imperceptible rise and fall of his ribs, the boy could be dead for all anyone can tell.

Now he’s just torturing himself.

“Hey, Ishida?”

“Hm?”

“Earlier, when you showed me my dumb, clingy reiraku…it seemed to take you longer than it used to.” No response is forthcoming, so Ichigo continues, “When we’d just met, you did the same thing. It barely took an instant then.”

His eyes ease open to fix on the ceiling. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Kurosaki. The problem has yet to resolve but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything insidious. Since when is it like you to dwell on these things?”

Since he has inside information that this very much _is_ insidious.

“Yeah. I guess I’m just being the idiot you always say I am.”

He quickly disagrees, “I haven’t said that in a long time.”

When he turns his head, Ishida is watching him, too. They appraise each other in the darkness, keeping the evidence of their thoughts hidden beneath convenient shadows. He looks away from Ichigo first.

“Are you still pissed that I’m worried about you? One of us should be.”

A short sigh signifies a shift in his mood. “I never said I wasn’t worried. I said I didn’t need _you_ to be. As usual, you disregard my requests and do whatever you feel like doing.”

“You’re telling me to be less stubborn when you’re the one who won’t talk about this?”

“You want to talk about it?” he snaps, heated gaze cutting into Ichigo. “What would you like to hear? That I begged my father for help after exhausting every other avenue of research? That I’ve been steadily draining all semester until I can’t even materialize reiraku without careful focus? Or how about the fact that I’m losing my ability to sense reiatsu, losing the ability to protect the people around me all over again and it’s _terrifying_?”

“Yes! I want to hear all of it. I want to know what you’re struggling with so I can try to help you through it. Isn’t that the whole point of friendship?”

Ishida gets this antagonistic look on his face like he’s going to regress to his favorite adage of old: ‘we’re not friends, we’re enemies’. And Ichigo inwardly vows to all that is sacred he will freak the hell out if Ishida dares utter it now. He doesn’t. He releases an irritated groan and grits his teeth until his anger is under control. It gradually gives way to vulnerability.

“I…appreciate the sentiment,” Ishida haltingly returns at length. “Out of anyone in this world, you are the one who can relate to what I’m going through. I remember watching you once with the same feelings you have for my circumstances now.”

“Then why won’t you talk to me?”

“Because it won’t change anything. It will only make you feel worse and I would rather spare you that burden. Can you honestly say you didn’t decide the same when it was you languishing in powerlessness?”

“No. I can’t. But that doesn’t mean—”

“That’s precisely what it means, Kurosaki.” Just like that, the debate is ended. Ichigo thumps his head against the pillow they’re sharing in frustration. Ishida takes pity on him and adds, “Ryuuken assured me it isn’t permanent and he has no reason to lie.”

Except the compassion for his son that keeps him from spoiling Ishida’s final days with meaningless dismay. Ichigo won’t be the one to deliver it to him, either. He forces his breathing into some semblance of calm. Despite how much it will hurt, the best thing he can do for Ishida is make his remaining time as bright and memorable as possible. So, that’s what he’s is going to do.

Ishida is already gone when he wakes up in the morning.

It doesn’t come as a surprise to Ichigo. What does surprise him, however, is the vague sense of disappointment this knowledge incites. Even more disturbing is the fact that he has no idea why it should. The situation is about a hundred times less awkward this way, but…

Putting that mess out of his mind, he consoles himself with a reminder that he is meeting Ishida in a few hours anyway to attend an all-day festival. It’s one of those ‘lame events’ Ichigo mentioned attending on the weekends. There is a simple green and blue yukata set aside in his closet for the occasion. He invited Ishida at school last week, in spite of the outcry it caused with their friends when he refused to go as a group. They’ll see everyone there at some point, he just doesn’t want them hanging around the whole time as noisy distractions. Ichigo knows the solitary Quincy well enough to figure he’d be happier with just him than half the damn class. When every day might be Ishida’s last, they need to make each one count.

Ichigo remembers wondering if he would even live this long, seeing as the tentative deadline Ishida’s father predicted is fast approaching. Hearing him finally confess concerns over his condition last night did nothing to alleviate Ichigo’s but he doesn’t begrudge it. If having his worries heard helps Ishida in the smallest way, he’ll listen all night long.

His family is gathered for breakfast when he makes his way downstairs. Ichigo joins them at the table. All of two minutes in, Yuzu and Karin are appraising him with trademark insight.

“Is something bothering you lately, Ichi-nii?” asks Yuzu.

Karin seconds that opinion with, “You seem angstier than usual.”

“Oh, there’s always something to moan about when you’re a teenager!” interjects Isshin with his usual level of enthusiasm. “Isn’t that right, my delicate daughters?”

“It’s probably just girl troubles,” Karin sagely posits. “That’s what guys his age brood about.”

“Is it girl troubles?” blurts Yuzu, eyes widening in either excitement or shock. Maybe both. “It’s not Orihime-chan, is it? Or Tatsuki-chan?”

Before Ichigo can say anything, Isshin thoughtlessly jumps in on his behalf once again with a quiet mutter.

“More like boy troubles, I’d say.” A stunned hush steals over the room. “Er, I mean…Haha, it’s definitely nothing to fret about! Right, Ichigo? Knowing my son, he’ll bounce right back in no time! Anyway, you two better go get ready for our trip to the aquarium! Hurry up, now.”

“What aquarium trip?” Karin dubiously objects. “I thought we were going to the festival today.”

“Later. We’ll go there later. Fish first!”

“But—”

Their father dissuades further questions and shoos them upstairs to change. As soon as the door to their room shuts, he turns to Ichigo with a ready apology.

“Sorry about that! Slip of the tongue, that’s all. I’m certainly not implying _that_ about you and Ishida-kun! Not that there would be anything wrong with it if you two happened to be—”

“Why did you tell me?”

The nervous energy sloughs from his father’s demeanor in lieu of solemnity to match his. Isshin regards him for a long moment, searching for the proper words. “Because I thought you’d want to know. No matter how much it hurt, you wouldn’t want him to go through something like this alone. Was I wrong?”

Ichigo’s response is a downcast gaze. He figured his dad would say that. For someone who tends to play such a fool, he secretly has more intuition than your average parent. In spite of guessing it would be ill-received, he chose to tell Ichigo a hard truth for his and Ishida’s benefit. He is grateful for that.

“No, you weren’t wrong. I needed to hear it.”

“Good.” Isshin shuffles his feet and darts indecisive glances about the room before asking, “So…you and Ishida-kun aren’t like ‘that’?”

At Ichigo’s confused squint, the man wiggles his pinky finger in the unmistakable gesture used to indicate _lovers_.

“What? No! Why would you even ask me that?”

“Well, how am I supposed to know? You’ve brought him over here a dozen times this month! Not to mention all the evenings you come home late.”

“We’re studying together,” he fervently insists. “Just studying!”

Isshin shrugs and makes a placating gesture. “All right, all right. But like I said, it’s no big deal if you decide to do more than ‘just studying’. Your family accepts you no matter who you love.”

“I’m saying it’s not like that!” Scoffing from fading annoyance, he mumbles, “And I already know that anyway.”

Then the great, gooey bear that is his nutty father ensnares him in a brutal hug. Ichigo struggles to shove him off as his sisters come back down the stairs and laugh at the ridiculous picture they make. During this moment of distraction, Isshin whispers in his ear, “No more sleepovers here, yeah? Even if you’re quiet, Karin and Yuzu might catch you! His place is fine, though.”

Finally breaking free of the unwanted embrace, Ichigo’s face ignites at those words. Despite Ishida’s reiatsu being barely a hint by this point, Isshin still sensed him last night? His mortification knows no bounds!

“Whatever,” he snaps, pushing past his curious siblings to shut himself in his room.

It’s none of Isshin’s business how he and Ishida see each other, or where, or for how long. In a matter of months Ichigo will be leaving for university to date whoever he pleases without the need for anyone’s approval and…and Ishida won’t. He’ll never have that chance again, if he hasn’t already.

Racking his brain for any clues, Ichigo realizes he doesn’t know if the chronic introvert has ever dated anyone or even wanted to. He used to think Ishida had a thing for Inoue, but that never went anywhere. It isn’t Ichigo’s concern but he finds himself thinking how sad it would be to bite it without so much as a first kiss to show for his time here. No one deserves that. If only he could convince Inoue to—or maybe _he_ could even—No, that’s crazy. Sympathy has addled Ichigo’s mind into constructing absurd ploys that will only end badly. Better that he stick to the PG-rating and call it good. Yeah.


	3. Chapter 3

“Why are you so early?” Ishida grouses as soon as he opens the door. “I haven’t gotten changed yet.”

“I finished my homework and got bored, so I went ahead and walked to your place. What’s the problem?”

He strides away without rebuttal, leaving Ichigo to shut the door on his own. Further into the small apartment, an explosion of fabrics drapes surfaces at random. The dresser has been gutted, drawers drawn and colorful viscera strewn over the surrounding furniture with complete disregard for organization. It is a disorienting change to the typical tidiness he is used to seeing here. Ishida crosses his arms and looks about the apparel massacre, oozing indecision.

“I haven’t worn traditional dress in so long I forgot how many kimono and yukata I own.”

“Impressive collection,” Ichigo agrees. Reaching out to touch a beautiful violet and white piece, he asks, “Where did you get all these?

His eyes lower to the material slipping between Ichigo’s fingers as he replies, “One of my mother’s hobbies included making clothes for her son to grow into. I suppose she had plenty of free time after marrying my father.”

“Sure seems like it. These are really amazing, Ishida. I’m envious.”

“If you’re saying I should stop complaining and be thankful, that thought already occurred to me. It doesn’t make the choice any easier.”

“Can I pick one for you?”

Eyebrows rise but Ishida makes a sweeping gesture of invitation. Ichigo peruses the complex patterns and bright hues, occasionally glancing at the boy in consideration. Something to emphasize his eyes without washing out his complexion. A bit of audacious color but not enough to seem whimsical. An eye-catching pattern that doesn’t overpower the natural lines of his figure.

He settles on a stars and moon-themed kimono of rich blue and dark orange complemented by pale purple accents. Holding it up to Ishida at shoulder height, he examines the match and deems it very suiting indeed. Ichigo smiles at the boy’s approving nod.

“Not bad, Kurosaki. Who knew you had an eye for fashion?”

“Don’t tell my sisters,” he conspiratorially warns, “or they’ll have me critiquing their outfits before every date.”

“Are they at that age already?” asks Ishida as he begins putting away the rest. Ichigo assists without a second thought.

“Just about. I’ll know when it starts because I’ll find Dad sobbing against Mom’s poster.”

“They’re smart girls; I’m sure he has nothing to worry about.”

“That’s what I said. Karin in particular can handle herself. Especially since…” His folding motions slow on a cautious continuation, “I’m pretty sure she’s more interested in girls than boys.”

“Oh?” Ishida doesn’t pause in his work but his posture changes ever so slightly. “What gave you that notion?”

“Something she told me once. I could be wrong, though.”

“Well, she’ll mention it when she’s ready if that’s the case.”

“As long as she doesn’t think I’d be upset about something like that.”

A full drawer clicks shut. Ishida turns around and leans against the dresser to make direct eye contact for a casual question.

“Would you be upset?”

He gazes right back and honestly answers, “Nope. Not even a little. Would you? If it were your sister, I mean.”

“No.” Resuming motion, Ichigo grabs the last couple of kimono and hands them over for storage. Ishida waits until the task is done and they are facing each other again to add, “That would be rather hypocritical of me, after all.”

Their eyes lock and Ichigo is momentarily at a loss for a reply. He doesn’t know what he anticipated when he began this conversation, but it isn’t this. More than two years of friendship and they have never talked about crushes or dating or preferences. Both of them always had bigger things on their minds than frivolous high school love stories. For Ishida to just announce it like this—albeit in an oblique way—comes as a slight shock. There is a clear challenge in his expression, daring Ichigo to speak his mind now if he has an issue with it.

“Right.” Ishida arches an eyebrow as if to hint he expected something more. Ichigo shrugs. “So, you’re into men. Lots of guys are like that these days.”

The moment passes and Ishida walks off to retrieve a simple white yukata to go under the kimono. Since his whole apartment is just one room except for a tiny bathroom, he starts shucking clothes without preamble. Given their recent discussion, Ichigo feels compelled to offer some privacy by swiveling toward the wall. Yet, looking away doesn’t prevent him from hearing. The susurrus of sliding silk triggers imagery that is just as invasive as watching would have been. Ichigo instantly feels foolish for his modesty. They are close friends and he shouldn’t be squeamish to see Ishida half-dressed. They have changed in front of each other plenty of times for school exercises, plus a few times in Rukongai while they were all waiting to break into Seireitei. The observation encourages him to take a resolute breath and turn back around.

“Do you want help with that? The ties can be a pain in the ass.”

He is in the process of securing the yukata around his waist, glancing up at the proposition. His hands still on the ribbon and he hesitates for two nerve-racking seconds.

“Sure.”

Ichigo steps forward and takes both ends of the ribbon from his hands. Ishida holds the material in place for him, watching his fingers manipulate the soft cloth into neat knots. The scent of silk and whatever minty soap he uses mix pleasantly, soaking into Ichigo’s lungs with each breath. It’s oddly comforting. As is the warmth seeping from his skin through the yukata’s thin fabric.

“Okay,” he murmurs once the garment is in place. “Now the kimono.”

Ishida shrugs it on and they repeat the process over. Once that’s done, Ichigo steps back to inspect his handiwork. It’s a tad loose at the top, almost as if…

“Did your mom make this before you were born?”

“Possibly. Why?”

A teasing smirk breaks out as he says, “I’m thinking she may have been expecting a daughter.”

Glancing down at his chest, Ishida frowns at the extra sliver of skin visible between the kimono’s crease. The top of his pentagram-shaped scar is showing. His hands tug bashfully at the garment as a light blush tinges his cheeks. The sight of it makes Ichigo’s grin widen.

“It’s because you don’t know how to wrap it properly!”

“Actually, it’s supposed to be a little loose but I’ll adjust it to accommodate your modesty.”

Ignoring the glare his taunt earns, Ichigo pushes his arms away and fixes the issue himself. Ishida endures this with a certain degree of resigned annoyance that could just about sum up their entire friendship. Smoothing wrinkles from the front with a palm, Ichigo pauses to feel the steady beat of a heart beneath his fingers. Eyes close on a sigh as he inwardly berates himself for continuing to subconsciously seek these signs of life. Eventually it’s going to get so bad that he’ll want to latch onto Ishida and never let go.

A subtle increase in the meter of his pulse brings Ichigo back to reality. Ishida is curiously watching him when he opens his eyes. Ichigo drops his hand from the boy’s chest and takes a few steps away from him. Although Ishida seems eager to ask what that was about, he doesn’t. He goes to the door and slips on a pair of traditional sandals.

“Let’s go, Kurosaki.”

“Yeah.”

Rows of glowing paper lanterns sway in a savory-scented breeze as they stroll past various food vendors. Their colors become more pronounced as the sun steadily sets, its orange-tinted brilliance bleeding vermillion on the horizon. Families, friends, and couples mill around the sakura-sprinkled area with carefree smiles and casual chatter. They are migrating to higher ground in anticipation of the fireworks display beginning soon to celebrate a spring matsuri attended by hundreds of people in traditional dress.

Ichigo casts a glance at the usual high school bunch surrounding Ishida and him. Over the past few hours, they have merged from disparate groups into one big collection of buddies like some kind of giddy amoeba. Spending time together has been fun so far but Ishida is an introvert; the more people he’s around, the more subdued he tends to become. Ichigo has only heard him speak a handful of words in the past hour, whereas everyone else can’t seem to shut up. Particularly Keigo and Chizuru, who are always ten times more hyper during special events.

So, when Tatsuki points to a nearby hill that isn’t quite as crowded as most of the other prime viewing spots, he subtly gets Ishida’s attention so they can split from the rest and wander off on their own. Ichigo leads the way up a narrow, winding path of dusty steps which ends at a small shrine atop an even taller hill. Not only will they get a clearer view from up here, but no one else seems to have discovered it yet.

Ishida goes to rest on the shrine’s short staircase and finish the last of his matcha tea. Claiming a spot beside him, Ichigo leans back on braced arms and watches stars slowly surface on the sky’s darkening rim. It’s such a peaceful, pleasant moment that part of him wishes they could stay there forever. He’s trying so hard not to brood about how frustratingly fleeting it all is, particularly when Ishida might be down to days or even hours left, for all they know.

The thought compels Ichigo to check on him. He’s fine, of course, but his gaze is fixed on the silver charm dangling from his wrist.

“You know, I’ve thought about this before but…” Ishida begins in a pensive tone, “maybe it wouldn’t actually be such a bad thing if I lost my power.”

Sitting up straight as tension seeps in, he warily asks, “What do you mean?”

“Think about it.” A touch to the pentagram pendant draws Ichigo’s attention there. “As a Shinigami, you can purify Hollow and send them to Soul Society. As a Quincy, all I can do is kill them.”

“Yeah, so they won’t kill anyone else first.”

Ishida shakes his head and argues, “It isn’t their fault they’re feral, Kurosaki. Hollow are just souls who have been driven insane by loneliness and misery. Does that mean they deserve to have their existences erased? In the past, I’ve justified it as self-defense or protecting others but that doesn’t change the facts. I’m still deciding to risk the utter destruction of a soul every time I fire my bow.”

Although Ichigo can see his point, he doesn’t necessarily agree because, “It’s not that simple, Ishida. Whether or not we blame Hollow for the damage they cause, they’ll do it anyway. If it comes down to destroying a Hollow or letting it destroy someone else, I’ll pick the first one. Besides, I like to think that if a Hollow could think rationally, they’d want to be stopped from hurting their loved ones no matter what it took. Just ask Inoue’s brother.”

He squeezes his pendant in a tight fist like he’s barely holding back the urge to rip it off. Then he forces himself to let go of it and looks up at Ichigo.

“Has it occurred to you that a Hollow can be reborn as a Shinigami? The same beasts you slaughtered yesterday could become your comrades-in-arms tomorrow, saving even more lives by cleansing more Hollow, but I take that opportunity away from them.”

“Yeah, but…” Sighing when nothing comes to mind, he scratches the back of his head and resents the fact that debating philosophy is definitely not his forte. Ishida shows him a wan smile as if intuiting his exasperation with himself. “What about Yhwach? We couldn’t have taken him down without you.”

“That’s generous,” he flatly comments.

“It’s true. If you hadn’t beaten his right hand man—”

“I didn’t beat Haschwalth. He collapsed when his master cannibalized his reiryoku, along with all the other Quincy under his command.”

“Fine, but at least you kept him busy long enough for us to get close to Yhwach.” Unable to deny that, he settles for avoiding Ichigo’s insistent gaze in mute objection. “If Haschwalth hadn’t wrecked your plan to blow the whole place up, I bet we wouldn’t have even needed to help _you_ take them down.”

“That was never going to work,” he mutters into the hands he rubs over his face. “I seriously overestimated my sleuthing abilities.”

Ichigo chuckles as he imagines Ishida sneaking around Wandenreich, Pink Panther-style. He sobers quickly in light of the affronted glare aimed at him.

“Listen, I know it was tough for you to go undercover and team up with them like that. They were the opposite of everything your grandfather stood for and I’m sure it made you question a lot about what being a Quincy means to you.” The awed way he stares at Ichigo as if he can’t believe such complex notions were ever generated in his tiny brain should be insulting, but he can’t be bothered to care about it when he really needs Ishida to quit feeling sorry for himself. It’s making Ichigo’s chest ache. “Maybe a part of you even hates being related to those assholes at all, but you know what? You’re _nothing_ like them. You can define what it is to be a Quincy on your own terms, Ishida. Don’t forget that.”

He’s still staring and Ichigo is starting to feel self-conscious. Did he say something stupid? It sounded legit in his head…

Ishida glances at his pendant again like he’s genuinely considering Ichigo’s advice. His voice is almost reverent as he says, “Thank you, Kurosaki. I needed to hear that.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies, tone just as hushed.

Gazing up at the violet hemisphere, Ishida ruins the tender moment by declaring, “I’m still a murderer, though.”

“No, you’re not!”

“Yes, I am.”

“Damn it, Ishida,” he growls, grabbing the boy’s shoulders to shake him for dramatic emphasis. “Stop. Fucking. Saying. That.” He’s too startled to react, which gives Ichigo ample time to adamantly proclaim, “You never killed anything you didn’t have to—not even Kurotsuchi and those jerks in Hueco Mundo who _really_ deserved it! Instead, you used your power to help save everyone—how many times? So, quit whining about being stuck with a sniper rifle instead of a tranq gun and _get over it_.”

His glasses are sliding down his nose but he doesn’t shove Ichigo off to correct their alignment. Eyes widened and breathing shallow, he weakly calls, “K-Kurosaki?” like he suspects his semi-unhinged friend has finally gone off the deep end.

“Maybe it’s selfish. Okay, I’ll accept that. But I’d rather watch you kill a thousand Hollow than let you throw away your reiryoku because I need to know you’ve got my back when shit hits the fan. So, I want you to swear to me, Ishida. Swear you won’t give up even if it’s painful and difficult and you don’t think you can fight anymore. You have to keep fighting!”

“I…” Ichigo’s fingers tighten around his arms, goading him to relent, “A-all right.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I swear.” His voice is hoarse, so he clears his throat and repeats, “I swear I won’t give up.”

Even if Ishida doesn’t mean it the same way Ichigo chooses to interpret it, hearing him make the oath is still massively relieving. His grip relaxes, slowly sliding down the silk draping Ishida’s arms, until reaching the bend of his elbow makes him realize what he’s doing. Ichigo releases him and turns to face forward again. His breathing is harsher than it has any reason to be, so he shuts his eyes for a few seconds and concentrates on evening it out.

When he opens them, he sees Ishida fiddling with his glasses from the periphery. Apparently, he’s too bewildered to ask Ichigo any of the questions that must be running through his mind since he remains silent for minutes on end.

Both of them jump at the reverberation of a loud boom, followed by a flash of golden light. The fireworks show has begun.

They peer up at the night sky as it is filled with vivid colors and concussive sound. It is an amazing display. Better than Ichigo has seen in years. Yet, his focus drifts down from the fiery flowers blooming above to their miniaturized reflections on Ishida’s lenses. There’s this gentle serenity in his expression that allows Ichigo to believe, just for an instant, it won’t end the way he fears.

“It won’t,” he whispers to himself like a vow.

Although the meaning is probably lost under the bass of artificial thunder, Ishida picks up on the hint of his voice and briefly glances at him.

“You’ll miss the end if you look away.”

Ichigo chokes on absolutely nothing, eyes watering from the strength of emotion that innocent observation elicits. Thankfully, Ishida doesn’t notice. His eyes are already aimed back at the sky, so he doesn’t see how Ichigo’s squeeze shut to hold the sting of sorrow at bay. He can’t afford to miss the end. Even if he has to follow Ishida around like a hopeful stray, he won’t dare to look away.

The fireworks finale is just as impressive as the rest but Ichigo can’t fully appreciate the majestic effect. It’s all he can do to act normal as they make their way downhill to meet up with everyone else. He fends off his friends’ half-hearted complaints of abandonment with good-natured taunts and feigned levity. In reality, he just wants the night to be over.

“Where did you two go?” asks Mizuiro.

“Yeah,” Keigo jumps in. “Did Glasses kidnap you, Ichigo?”

“Will you quit calling him that already? No one thinks it’s funny. And Chizuru wears glasses, too, dumbass.”

He gets several weird looks for coming to Ishida’s defense rather than answering their inane questions, including one from Ishida himself.

Inoue dispels the awkward hush by asking, “Are you feeling okay, Kurosaki-kun?”

“Fine. Why?”

“You seem sorta worn out,” Tatsuki replies in her place.

“Who wouldn’t be worn out after spending the whole evening with you freaks?”

“All but the past half hour,” Keigo petulantly grumbles. “Just had to go have ‘alone time’ with Ishida, didn’t you?”

The permanent frown between Ichigo’s eyebrows deepens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means we were going to ask if you wanted to walk home with us,” says Tatsuki with a hand propped on her hip, “but I can already guess the answer. Let’s go, ‘Hime.”

“Yeah, let’s go, Mizuiro. Who needs grumpy friends like Ichigo anyway?”

The grumpy friend in question rolls his eyes at their attitudes and tells Ishida, “Come on, I’ll walk you back.”

That earns him another round of perplexed stares, also including Ishida’s, but Ichigo is beyond the point of caring what any of them think of his behavior. He doesn’t understand it, either, and that just makes the entire situation more irritating.

Whether or not Ishida approves, he is escorted home by a silent, stormy-tempered Shinigami. Ichigo is tired and confused and sad and kind of angry in ways that make him want to kick a can down the street or something but there aren’t any around. He can’t even push his hands into his pockets since he doesn’t have any. All he can do is sullenly glower at the ground as they walk.

“Kurosaki.” He looks up to see Ishida studying him thoughtfully. “I’m not sure what possessed you to start spending more time with me lately but in case you were wondering…I don’t hate it.”

“Yeah?” Ichigo perks up a little. He really wasn’t expecting Ishida to admit it if he did feel that way. “Well, good, ‘cause neither do I.”

“That said, I would advise you not to ostracize your friends as a result. I think you may have legitimately hurt Asano’s and Arisawa-san’s feelings earlier.”

Loosing a shallow sigh, Ichigo asks, “You think so? I should probably apologize at school on Monday…”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

“Thanks, Ishida.”

He doesn’t respond but it’s likely due to him being occupied with fishing in the folds of his kimono for the hidden pocket where he tucked his house keys. They draw to a halt in front of his unit and Ichigo watches him unlock the door, wondering what he should say before heading home. ‘Goodbye’ sounds too formal, ‘goodnight’ seems too simple, ‘see ya later’ would probably get him glared at, and saying nothing at all would make him feel like a jerk. What does that leave?

Ichigo still doesn’t have the answer but he knows he’s out of time because Ishida is turning to toss a questioning glance at him.

“Today was fun,” he says and Ichigo mentally kicks himself. Why couldn’t he think of that? “I’m glad you invited me to the matsuri.”

“Me, too.”

With the exchange completed, he’s free to go. Just turn and walk off, maybe give a quick wave if he’s feeling particularly dorky. But he doesn’t move. Not one muscle. He can’t say why, exactly, but he suspects it has something to do with the way Ishida is regarding him with an expression absolutely devoid of agitation or intolerance. This might be a first.

Speaking of firsts, Ichigo freezes in place like one of those realistic ice sculptures as Ishida claims his first kiss.

Even if he isn’t moving on the outside, _everything_ is moving on the inside. His heart is beating so fast, blood is rushing to his face, and his stomach is doing all sorts of things he doesn’t want to think about.

Ichigo sucks in a shocked breath when their lips part to allow it. There and gone, the kiss didn’t last long but Ishida immediately realizes something is wrong because Ichigo didn’t kiss him back. The flabbergasted set of his features merely confirms it and Ishida takes an uncertain step back.

“I thought you…” His cheeks flare fuchsia as he drops his gaze and retreats until his back bumps the door. “F-forget it. My mistake.”

He scrabbles at the handle. Only once the door creaks open does Ichigo regain control of his own stupid body. Reaching out, he calls, “Ishida, wait!”

The door is slammed shut before he can take a single step forward.

Ichigo presses a palm against it and debates demanding to be let in. The problem is he wouldn’t know what to do if Ishida did. He’s still trying to process what just happened and _why_ and how he feels about it. His heart is pounding even harder now and his head is swimming with countless questions but no answers in sight. Ichigo knows this is bad. This is the type of thing that can ruin a friendship and he doesn’t want that.

Is it worse to rush in recklessly or take action too late? He doesn’t know that, either, so he can’t make a decision.

Five minutes later, he’s still standing in the same spot. Still struggling with the same dilemma. The one thing he knows for sure is Ishida can sense him loitering out here like a stalker but he isn’t yelling at Ichigo to leave. He also isn’t inviting Ichigo inside for a mature discussion to clear the air between them. That, more than anything, makes him hesitate. If Ishida isn’t even confident that they can work this out like almost-adults, what chance do they really have?

In the end, Ichigo straightens from his slouch against the door and robotically travels home.


	4. Chapter 4

After that night, Ishida understandably began avoiding him for a while.

In the forced interim, Ichigo misses him fiercely. Although he can’t figure out what his feelings are toward the boy, he knows for absolute certain that he doesn’t want to lose him in any sense of the word. Every little thing reminds him of Ishida lately and it is all he can do not to go straight to his apartment and apologize or…something… _anything_ that will make them okay again. He’s just sick of having nightmares where Ishida dies, despondent and alone, because of his ambiguity.

Ichigo is more determined than ever not to let that happen. He knows he’s truly desperate when he goes to his dad for help.

“That thing Urahara-san did to you and Mom,” he begins without preamble, “could something like that work for Ishida?”

“Ahhh…” Isshin drones, blinking dumbly at him. They’re standing in the middle of the clinic with a young patient resting in a bed several meters away. She’s staring at Ichigo in open curiosity but he doesn’t care if their conversation is overheard. He just wants answers. “You mean how he bonded our souls so mine could keep the Hollow from taking Masaki’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Uhhh…” He appears even more baffled to hear it confirmed. “No clue. I don’t know how he did it in the first place.”

“Thanks, that’s really helpful,” Ichigo sarcastically quips and turns to leave.

“If it could work,” his dad says, delaying his exit, “are you saying you’d volunteer?”

“Yeah.” No hesitation.

Isshin’s brow rises as he sets down his clipboard. “Even if it’s permanent?”

“Yeah.”

“Even if you’ll _both_ lose your power?”

Slight hesitation. Then, “Yes.”

His moronic father is gaping at him like he’s never been more astonished in his life and it’s pissing Ichigo off.

Eventually, Isshin recovers enough to promise, “I’ll check in with Urahara and Ryuuken about it.”

“Thanks,” he says, leaving out the sarcasm this time since it actually is helpful. “Today would be great, if you can. I’m heading to Seireitei as soon as Rukia and Renji get here but I’ll be back by tonight.”

Assuming the tunnel doesn’t do something strange like spitting him out ten days into the past. Actually, he’d welcome it since he could find his past self and smack him for not handling the situation with Ishida after the matsuri better.

“Ohhh…” Setting a hand to Ichigo’s shoulder, he solemnly asks, “You’re serious about Ishida-kun, aren’t you?”

Whether or not Isshin means it like _that_ , a blush spreads across his cheeks as he looks away. Ichigo doesn’t bother denying it when his dad is already smiling like he knows the answer.

He brushes Isshin’s hand off and snaps, “Just tell me when you talk to them, all right?”

As he goes back to his room and waits for his escort to Soul Society, Ichigo tries not to get sucked into a familiar vortex of thoughts that always succeed in confusing the hell out of him. He’s serious about saving Ishida’s life and that’s all he needs to know right now.

A little while later, he senses Rukia and Renji’s reiatsu winking into existence halfway across town. Ichigo hops out of bed, pops Kon’s pill into his mouth, and drops right out of his physical body.

“I shouldn’t be gone long but take care of the place ‘til I get back,” he tells Kon as he slides his window open. Pausing on the sill, Ichigo adds, “Keep an eye on Ishida for me, will ya?”

Kon arches an intrigued eyebrow but doesn’t question it. “Sure thing.”

Renji is the first to spot Ichigo when he flash steps to the mouth of an alley they’re waiting in. “Yo. That was fast.”

“It’s sort of a time-sensitive issue,” he explains as he walks over. “Sorry I didn’t give you more details over the phone.”

Basically, he only told them it was about Ishida and it was an emergency, so he needed them to come ASAP. Rukia seems to gather from his demeanor that he’s itching to get where they’re going. She doesn’t interrogate him, but wordlessly opens the gateway to Soul Society instead. They follow the Hell Butterfly through the sliding shoji panels toward the light. An instant later, they’re striding into another world.

“Okay,” Rukia says once the gate closes behind them. “What’s all this about?”

Ichigo gives them a short summary not because he wants to keep anything from them, but because saying it aloud makes it feel inevitable. Like voicing the words ‘Ishida is dying’ means the outcome will be set in stone. It makes him uncomfortable but they need to understand if they’ll be able to help.

“Whoa,” sighs Renji with a sympathetic frown. “That’s rough. Anything we can do?”

“That’s what I came here to find out.” Addressing Rukia, he asks, “Remember that zanpakutou you guys pumped full of reiryoku to get my power back? Any chance that’d work for a Quincy?”

Mulling it over for a moment, she replies, “I don’t think so. Even if it would work the same way in theory, there aren’t enough Quincy left to donate anywhere near the reiryoku it would take to restore Ishida’s. It took nearly all the captains and vice-captains contributing reiryoku over the course of months to make it work on you.”

“What about using Shinigami reiryoku?”

“We would have to ask Urahara-san to be sure, but I doubt it would do any good. It might even hurt him.”

Thinking back to that day he tried to ‘recharge’ Ishida like a battery, he figures she’s probably right. Ichigo sighs, paces for a minute, and scrubs at his hair. They’re not off to a great start but he’s not out of options yet.

“What about my reiryoku? It’s part Quincy, right?”

“Technically, I guess. But even you don’t have enough to—”

“I could store some each day. Save it up, you know? Then in a week or two…” He trails off when he notices the pitying looks they’re giving him. “It’s impossible, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, Ichigo.”

“You didn’t have us bring you here just to ask that,” Renji astutely points out. “What else do you have in mind?”

“Kurotsuchi-taichou.” They both twitch at the name. “He has studied the Quincy more than anyone. If there’s a chance he knows a way to help Ishida, I’ve got to find out. In the meantime, can you guys ask around? It’s a long-shot but…”

Rukia smiles reassuringly. “Of course. We’ll get a group together to round up some intel.”

“Ikkaku and Yumichika have been bored lately,” comments Renji, “and Rangiku’s never busy since Hitsugaya-taichou does all her paperwork.”

“Leave it to us! Just be careful in the twelfth division, all right?”

“Thanks, guys. See you in a couple of hours.”

He tries to stay optimistic but it’s a challenge just to get past the first level of security without inciting a panic. Luckily, he runs into Akon, who calls Nemu, who gives him special clearance to visit Kurotsuchi’s personal labs—as long as she accompanies him, of course. They find the neurotic captain typing away at some interface with zero concern for the unusual reiatsu entering his domain. It takes Nemu demurely murmuring his name several times for him to even notice the presence of his own lieutenant.

“What is it, woman? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of analyzing this data?”

“Yes, Mayuri-sama, I sincerely apologize. It’s just that we have a guest who requested to speak with you directly.”

“Guest?” He glances away from the screen long enough to spot Ichigo and his attitude shifts in a split-second. “Oh, look who it is: the hybrid who saved the world!” The way he says it makes it clear he could care less about the world in general and Ichigo specifically. “Have you come to volunteer yourself as a test subject?”

“Oh, hell no!” Seeing Kurotsuchi’s eyes narrow dangerously, he courteously amends, “Er, I mean no, thanks. I actually came to ask about your research regarding the Quincy.”

“Boooring,” he drawls with a roll of his eyes and a flick of his wrist. “Old news, boy. Why would I revisit topics I’ve long since lost interest in?”

“Because it could help save the Last Quincy’s life.”

Kurotsuchi chuckles maliciously. “Ishida Uryuu, huh? You know that boy tried to kill me once. Why would I lift a finger to spare his life?”

“We were enemies then, of course he tried to kill you!” Again, Ichigo reminds himself that his temper will win him no allies. Composing himself for Ishida’s sake, he reasons, “You healed him and Renji in Hueco Mundo, didn’t you? This time you don’t even have to go anywhere. All I need are your logs.”

“Did I heal them? I can’t remember.”

“You did, Mayuri-sama. I helped.”

“Shut up, stupid woman!”

“My deepest apologies, Mayuri-sama,” she pronounces with a deep bow.

As usual, witnessing their interactions makes Ichigo’s skin crawl. He swears if the bastard hits her even once he’s gonna go bankai on Kurotsuchi’s ass!

Projecting as little enmity as possible, Ichigo appeals, “Look, I’d be willing to give you a sample or something in exchange for the logs.”

“A sample?” the captain dubiously repeats. “A sample of _what_?”

“My reiryoku.” He figures it should be obvious but Kurotsuchi isn’t the same sort of genius as Ishida, who is the sort he’s used to. “The reiryoku of a _hybrid_. World’s only all-in-one package, too. Think of what you could learn from that kinda _super rare_ energy.”

“Hmm…I suppose I could find some use for it in my konpaku technology.”

Ichigo balks at that, horrified by the idea of modified souls being created using his reiryoku. Would they be like clones? Would they have his personality or abilities? Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.

But Ishida’s clock is ticking faster each second. Too late to back out now.

“So, do we have a deal? All of your Quincy research logs for some of my reiryoku?”

Rather than respond, Kurotsuchi gestures for his lieutenant to come closer. Ichigo’s eyes catch on that one grody-looking purple fingernail jutting out past all the others like the curved blade of a very oddly shaped sword.

“Nemu, go get the extractor.”

_Extractor_!? Ichigo swallows thickly as a drop of sweat slides down the side of his neck. What has he gotten himself into?

When Nemu returns wielding a bulky contraption that almost resembles a leaf blower constructed from spare parts found in a kitchen appliances graveyard, Ichigo wants to run screaming and never look back. It’s for Ishida, he thinks over and over like a mantra. _It’s for Ishida, it’s for Ishida, it’s for Ishida_ …

“Just, uh, don’t take too much,” he meekly requests as Nemu approaches. “I might need it sooner than later.”

She pauses to check in with her captain, “Mayuri-sama?”

“Ninety-seven percent should suffice,” he relents with a lazy shrug.

“Ninety-seven!? There’s no way! I’d die if a Hollow so much as looked at me wrong!”

Kurotsuchi sticks a pinky finger in his ear and rotates it like a q-tip, clearing the unsightly residue of his petrified shrieking. “It’s not as if it won’t replenish, foolish child. But I guess I could settle for half, if you’re so attached to it.”

The mad scientist is trying to kill him!

“Twenty-five percent,” Ichigo counters.

“Forty.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Deal,” he decrees and gives the signal for Nemu to take his stipulated toll.

The lieutenant cranks a dial and presses a series of buttons that sets the thing whirring and clicking in ways Ichigo is pretty sure aren’t physically possible. But if time works differently in Soul Society, who’s to say mechanics can’t, too?

He braces for—he doesn’t even know what—as Nemu presses the open end of a tube against his chest. There’s an unnerving sensation like that sucking tool dentists use to vacuum up spit, only about a hundred times stronger. Ichigo grabs onto the edge of a nearby table when he starts to grow lightheaded and dizzy. It feels like his inner Hollow is wailing, enraged at him for agreeing to this treachery. He also gets the impression Tensa Zangetsu wants to yank him into his own inner world and stoically beat the shit out of him like last time. Only he’ll be the opposite of invincible afterward.

_It’s for Ishida, it’s for Ishida, it’s for Ishida_ …

The machine suddenly stops and Nemu pauses to troubleshoot by inspecting the gauges.

“What is it now?” Kurotsuchi irritably demands.

“Mayuri-sama, the reservoir…it’s already full at eight percent extraction.”

He skewers Ichigo with the dirtiest, most disgusted glower he’s ever seen. “You made me haggle with you and maxed out my machine at eight percent? How stingy can you be, boy?”

“Hey, I didn’t know this would happen!” Even to him, eight percent sounds absurd when Kurotsuchi originally wanted _ninety-seven_. His reiryoku must have grown some more since the last time he made a day-trip to Seireitei. “You’re not gonna go back on our deal, are you?”

“Ugh. Nemu, get the files.”

“Yes, Mayuri-sama.”

Ichigo relaxes, leaning against the table as he waits for the lieutenant to fetch those precious Quincy logs. Damn, Urahara had better find a way to use them for Ishida’s benefit or Ichigo will be _so pissed_.

He straightens when Nemu brings him an egg-sized trinket that’s heavier than a bowling ball. “Geez, what the hell did you cram into this thing?”

“About a hundred years of research that cost thousands of Quincy lives,” Kurotsuchi testily answers, “so be grateful, hybrid brat. Now, get out.”

Ichigo does not need to be told twice. He nods respectfully to Nemu and makes a hasty escape.

“Thank god,” he mutters as he steps through the portal to his world once again.

It has been an extremely long day, especially since the past two hours were spent debriefing about a dozen Shinigami who gathered any available information on Quincy from everyone they could find. All Ichigo has to show for it is a fistful of messily scribbled notes and a weird egg-thing he’s not totally convinced isn’t secretly a bomb.

Thankfully, Urahara is in when he stops by to deliver the goods.

“Good evening, Kurosaki-san! To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Here,” he flatly says and holds out the spoils of his raid on Seireitei. “Quincy stats. Use ‘em.”

Once Urahara accepts the gifted research, Ichigo immediately pivots to leave but the shopkeeper’s next comment stops him dead in his tracks.

“Excellent work, Kurosaki-san,” he praises with an impressed lilt. “Before you go, I wanted to let you know I spoke with your and Ishida-san’s fathers earlier today.”

Dreading the answer to some degree, he asks, “What did you guys figure out?”

“Well, I can’t guarantee anything at this time, but I believe that if the twelfth division’s research is as useful as I imagine it will be and my theory based on the procedure I performed on your parents holds…we may just have a shot at attempting to save Ishida-san’s life.”

It sounds like a lot of ‘if’s and ‘maybe’s but Ichigo hones in on the phrase ‘save Ishida’s life’ like it’s his Holy Grail.

At the same time, he’s too exhausted to say much except, “That’s great, Urahara-san.”

“I’ll need some time to collate the data and corroborate the findings with my hypotheses but—”

“I can just wait for your call, right?” The man nods, mercifully not mentioning the way Ichigo is sort of swaying in place from fatigue. “Lookin’ forward to it.”

He gives a small wave of farewell that Urahara mirrors before they go their separate ways.

All Ichigo has to do is get back in his body and then he can sleep for the next ten solid hours since tomorrow is Sunday. He doesn’t know what Kurotsuchi’s machine did to him but so far the side-effects are a lot like having the flu. Depending on how bad it gets, he might even skip school the day after tomorrow. And if this is how he feels after only losing eight percent, what would thirty-five have been like!?

Tuning out idle speculation, Ichigo focuses on the faint reiatsu signature of Kon—who he assumes is still in his body even if he’s not still in Kurosaki Clinic—and mindlessly tracks his reiraku with a series of haphazard flash steps.

When he reaches the end of the trail, he nearly crashes into a live transformer mounted on a tall wooden pole because Kon’s reiatsu has led him straight to _Ishida’s apartment_.

Ichigo lands in the building’s outer hallway and marches down to Ishida’s door. Then he stops and considers how bad of an idea this is. He hasn’t spoken to Ishida since the night they kissed—or he _got_ kissed, let’s be accurate—and he still hasn’t got the faintest clue of how to resolve their newfound awkward tension.

Just as he is thinking the more prudent route would be to go home and wait for Kon to follow, the door directly in front of him is opened.

“Welcome back, Ichigo!”

“What the hell are you doing here, Kon!?”

“You told me to keep an eye on Ishida,” he replies with a confused scrunch to Ichigo’s borrowed features.

“I didn’t mean _literally_ , you lunkhead!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?” Kon looks askance with a snide expression and boasts, “At least Ishida fed me, unlike you.”

Spotting Ishida observing the spectacle from his living room, Ichigo asks, “You fed me?—Him?—Whatever. I’m too tired for this. I’ll deal with you later, Kon. You’re lucky I don’t have my badge with me right now.”

The mod soul scoffs and rolls his eyes, so Ichigo kicks his own ass out of Ishida’s apartment and slams the door behind Kon…with Ichigo on the inside. He didn’t mean to do it but now that he’s here, he’d feel really stupid opening the door right back, so he turns to face Ishida instead. His expression isn’t a friendly one. Ichigo is so stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“Come in or go home, Kurosaki. Pick one.”

That’s probably about as warm a welcome as he’s getting from Ishida, so he takes off his sandals and props his swords by the door before padding further into the apartment. Ichigo wants to sit beside him on the couch but he knows if he does he won’t have the strength to budge for hours. He doubts Ishida would appreciate that very much at the moment.

“Sorry you had to put up with Kon all day. When I told him to watch out for you, I didn’t think he’d actually _watch you_.” Shifting uncomfortably where he stands, Ichigo points out, “You could’ve gotten rid of him, though.”

Ishida sighs quietly and says, “He wasn’t a nuisance. He kept me company.”

“Oh.” That irks Ichigo for reasons he’s not prepared to analyze. “Well, good, I guess.” They avoid each other’s gazes for a handful of charged seconds. Then he bravely begins, “Listen, Ishida, about what happened—”

“We don’t need to talk about it.”

“We don’t?” He’s pretty sure they do.

“No. It was just…” his eyes flick to Ichigo’s and away in a blink, “a simple misunderstanding. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Doesn’t sound legit.

“Yes,” he sternly confirms, “that’s all.”

“But why—”

Raising his voice a little, Ishida insists, “I told you we don’t need to talk about it.”

“Maybe I _do_ need to talk about it.”

“Kurosaki…”

“No. You know what, Ishida? I’m getting really sick of always trying to puzzle you out because you’re too damn stubborn to just _tell me_ what’s going on inside your head. Why do you have to make everything so difficult? It’s like you’re constantly trying to push me away even though I haven’t done anything wrong!

“Sometimes you make me wonder why I care so much. Why do I do crazy shit like begging both of our dads for help and letting that nutty fucker Kurotsuchi swipe some of my reiatsu just to give Urahara-san a better shot at restoring your reiryoku—that you don’t want, apparently—when you won’t even go to the trouble of explaining why you randomly _kissed me_ last week even though you act like you can’t stand me half the time and—”

His mighty rant is finally quelled by Ishida abruptly rising from the sofa to hug him.

Ichigo freezes, just like last time. Yet, unlike last time, he unfreezes relatively quickly. He doesn’t make the same mistake twice by doing nothing. He lifts his arms and wraps them around Ishida’s shoulders to keep him there when he tries to pull away with an embarrassed murmur of, “I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay,” Ichigo says and tightens his hold. “This is okay.”

Ishida makes a soft sound, muffled against the material covering Ichigo’s shoulder, and melts into the embrace. Ichigo can feel his breathing grow slower and deeper with each passing second as his whole body relaxes, little by little. Yet, at a certain point the tide begins to turn. Ishida starts breathing faster and shallower, the meter becoming more irregular until Ichigo worries something is very wrong.

When Ishida’s hands clench into the back of his shihakusho, Ichigo inhales to ask an important question but he can already sense the answer hovering on the periphery of his mind. The reason Ishida’s falling apart in his arms is the exact same reason he kissed Ichigo that night. It’s the reason Ishida pushes him away. It’s the reason he’s so sensitive to everything Ichigo says about him. It’s the reason Ishida is so _moved_ to hear all the things Ichigo has done to get his power back that he would impulsively hug him in spite of the risks and repercussions.

And he wants to tell Ishida it’s mutual so he won’t hurt anymore, but Ichigo knows lying would hurt him even more.

Maybe it’s not a lie. Maybe he does feel the same way for Ishida. But he’s not ready to make proclamations that heavy until he’s sure, and it’s really hard to be sure of anything when there is so much going on in his overloaded brain right now.

They separate moments later and Ishida turns away before Ichigo can get a glimpse of his face.

“You didn’t have to do any of that for my sake,” he says, cadence carefully even, “but I’m…not ungrateful.”

Choosing to translate that as the heartfelt ‘thank you’ that it actually is, Ichigo replies, “You’re welcome, Ishida.”

He lifts a hand for something like his usual gesture of fixing his glasses but Ichigo suspects his fingertips never touch the frames.

“I think you should go, Kurosaki.”

When he doesn’t move or respond right away, Ishida goes to his door and holds it open in emphasis. Ichigo grabs his stuff to go but hesitates in the open frame. Ishida’s eyes appear a bit red from what he can tell with them aimed at the floor, and Ichigo feels a sharp twinge of pain to think he could ever cause such a proud person to cry. He wants to hug Ishida again and tell him everything will be fine. They’ll get through this together like they always do. He’ll make sure of it.

But Ichigo can’t say any of that with confidence, so instead he asks, “Can I come over to study after school on Monday?”

That gets Ishida to look up at last. He’s staring at Ichigo as if he’s not sure any of this is even real.

“I…” Ishida swallows uncertainly. Then the smallest smile emerges. “I’d like that.”


	5. Chapter 5

They are studying in Ichigo’s room less than a week after making up when it happens.

It’s getting late, he realizes and checks the clock to confirm what his drooping eyelids are telling him. Ishida is still here, which is a bit unusual for the early bird when they have school the next day. Ichigo glances up from his history textbook to see Ishida slouched forward at the desk with his head resting on an open notebook. There’s still a mechanical pencil in his left hand and it looks like his glasses might be digging into the side of his face from the pressure. More troubling than any of that, though, is the fact that he has never fallen asleep during a study session before.

A spike of dread lodges itself between Ichigo’s lungs but he talks himself down. He reminds himself that Ishida has seemed tired all day—even answering a question wrong when Ochi-sensei called on him—so it’s not beyond the realm of believability that he’s just that sleepy. Plus, Ishida himself insisted he was in a good mood because he’d gotten accepted to his preferred university. So had Ichigo, as it turns out, and they happened to list the same one as first-choice. The remnants of half a cupcake batch Yuzu baked for the occasion sit crusting on a plate left lazily by the door.

It’s probably nothing. Ishida just dozed off due to burning out on exciting news and too much cramming.

Still, Ichigo has every reason to be paranoid under the circumstances, so he drags himself up off his bed and goes to make sure.

In the two or three seconds it takes him to cross the room, he thinks he should already be able to see or hear Ishida breathing but he can’t. In those two or three seconds, Ichigo convinces himself it’s over and he missed his chance at fixing this. In those two or three seconds, he mourns Ishida and the life he could’ve had—the life they could’ve shared together as close friends at the very least. In those two or three seconds, he decides he’ll never be able to forgive himself.

By the time Ichigo makes it to the boy’s side, he is full-on panicking.

“Ishida!” he loudly calls, reaching out to shake him roughly. “Ishida, wake up!”

The tingling wash of relief that settles over Ichigo to see blue eyes fluttering open makes him shiver fiercely.

“Kurosaki? The hell are you shouting for?”

“I-I thought…”

Poking his skewed glasses into place, Ishida turns an agitated look up at him as he prods, “You thought _what_?”

“I thought I told you my dad doesn’t want you sleeping over here,” Ichigo feebly offers in place of the genuine reason for his theatrics. He knows it’s the wrong excuse to give when Ishida’s eyes narrow into an indignant glare.

“Well, pardon me for daring to drift off under his roof,” he snaps and crams his notebook into his bag.

“Hold on, that’s not—”

“Don’t worry, I can take a hint.” The chair squeaks against the floor as he quickly pushes up to stand. “If having me in your bedroom makes you that uncomfortable, I’ll gladly stay out of it.”

“What? Hey, I never said—”

“No, you never said anything, did you?” Looping the strap of his messenger bag over a shoulder, he faces Ichigo properly to accuse, “You never said anything even though I’ve made my feelings clear. I should’ve known you’d be too much of a coward to reject me like a man instead of playing pretend like a little boy!”

With that, he brushes Ichigo aside and makes a bee-line for the exit.

An infuriated noise broadcasts Ishida’s displeasure when his arm is caught and held, but Ichigo boldly meets that fury head-on as he claims, “I’m not afraid of rejecting you, Ishida. I’m just not sure if that’s what I wanna do yet.”

He yanks free of Ichigo’s grip to coldly retort, “If you need this much time to make up your mind, it’s only because you can’t accept the answer.”

The harsh truth punches into him like a violent epiphany. It feels like urgency and desperation and fate are clawing into him, threatening to rip him apart from the inside out if he doesn’t keep Ishida from walking through that door. So Ichigo pulls him away from it, not giving a word of complaint as Ishida struggles viciously against him. Ichigo grips the back of his neck to hold him steady and firmly kisses him.

Ishida stills in his arms for just a second. Maybe two. Then he shoves Ichigo back so forcefully he crashes painfully into his desk. The outrage contorting Ishida’s features in the aftermath makes his blood pound in his temples because he knows he Fucked Up.

“I’m sorry,” Ichigo rasps past the throbbing ache in his ribs where they hit a sharp corner. “I’m sorry, Ishida.”

“ _Yes, you are_ ,” he hisses so caustically it makes Ichigo’s cheeks burn with shame. “You’re a sorry excuse for a human being and an even worse friend! What the hell were you thinking, trying to use my feelings for you against me just to win an argument?”

“I know. I’m so sor—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Kurosaki! I can’t bear to look at your stupid face and listen to your pathetic justifications anymore.”

Picking himself up off the desk, he cautiously approaches Ishida as he begs, “Please don’t leave. Let’s talk it out, okay?”

“Stay away from me,” he barks at Ichigo, making him halt in shock at his tone. “Just stay the fuck away from me, _Shinigami_.”

He stands helplessly immobile as Ishida throws open the door and disappears through it.

Ichigo’s chest hurts so bad he can’t even breathe. It feels like a hand through the heart all over again, like failure and grief and despair. He would almost rather fight Yhwach, trapped in his eternal loop, than feel this way knowing Ishida probably feels _worse_. Ichigo wants to run after him. He’s trembling all over from the strain of holding himself back because he doesn’t think Ishida will forgive him if he follows.

But Ichigo is already pretty sure his crime won’t be forgiven, so what does he really have to lose?

The instant his choice is made, his body bolts like a greyhound on the racetrack. He doesn’t stop for jacket or shoes or keys on the way. He doesn’t even close the front door behind him as he darts outside as if his head is on fire. Running barefoot across the grass with single-minded purpose, he almost trips over something sprawled across the lawn.

“ _Ishida_?” he cries when he recognizes his outline in the darkness. Dropping to his knees, Ichigo rolls him face-up and pulls him into his lap. “Oh, god, Ishida!”

“Kurosaki?” he breathes out, fear and confusion tinting his wavering tone. His glasses are missing but his eyes focus on Ichigo’s readily enough. “What’s…happening?”

“No. No, this isn’t real. It’s not real,” murmurs Ichigo as his mind blanks in horror. “Ishida, please get up. Don’t do this to me. You can’t do this to me right now!” Looking toward the house over his shoulder, Ichigo screams, “ _DAD_!”

When he turns back, Ishida’s eyes have slipped shut.

“Ichigo? What—”

His father identifies the emergency immediately and rushes over to check Ishida’s vitals.

“Is he okay?” Monitoring for a pulse, Isshin doesn’t respond. “Dad, is he gonna be okay!?”

He rests a steadying palm on Ichigo’s shoulder as he says, “I’m going to call Urahara, son. You wait here with him, all right? Just wait here.”

His attention returns to Ishida’s expressionless face. “You’re gonna be fine,” Ichigo tells him, reaching to squeeze one of his limp hands. “Urahara-san will know what to do. He always does.”

Yet, the longer he stares down at Ishida, too paralyzed to check if he’s even breathing, the less he believes his own words.

“He’s on his way, Ichigo,” his dad calls from the porch. “I’m putting some supplies together so we’ll be ready when he gets here.”

Supplies? Ishida doesn’t need _supplies_ , he needs some kind of Quincy magic ritual to repair the damage Yhwach did to his reiryoku. Ichigo grinds his teeth and swears if the bastard wasn’t already dead, he’d track him down and murder him for doing this to one of his friends.

“Listen to me, Ishida,” he softly says with a gentle caress to smooth dark hair back from closed eyes. “You swore to me that you wouldn’t give up. I won’t give up, either. Do you hear me? I’m not giving up even if I have to drag your ass all the way back from Soul Society, so I need you to keep fighting. You’re the most stubborn guy I’ve ever met and that’s not about to change even if you’re…”

He can’t say it. Can’t even think it because if he does he’ll go insane. Ishida isn’t dead. He can’t be.

No, Ishida is definitely not dead.

The solemn sounds of low voices carry easily through Urahara Shouten’s thin walls. The words they convey are ones Ichigo is used to hearing. Terms like resuscitation, pupillary response, autonomic reflexes, heart palpitations, and respiration rate have been familiar since he was a child. In this context, however, they are the last things he wants to hear.

Ichigo is pacing back and forth down the hall while Ishida’s dad and Urahara conduct some sort of preliminary exam. Out of his depth with a chief surgeon on the scene, Isshin has retreated to sit at the table and drink tea while pretending he can’t hear his son restlessly stalking around like an agitated lion. Even Kon—taking up residence in Ichigo’s physical body—is eerily silent in light of the morbid atmosphere.

He halts in place when the door _finally_ slides open. The two older men emerge and file into the room with Isshin and Kon. Taking their cue, Ichigo follows but doesn’t sit at the table like the others. If he rests for one second it’s one second too long.

“Well?” he blurts at the group in general. “What’s the update?”

“Uryuu’s body is—” Seeing the way that phrasing makes him flinch, Ishida’s dad retries, “Uryuu is stable for the moment, thanks to one of Urahara-san’s modified souls maintaining biological function, but the effect is temporary.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we don’t have much time to work with here,” replies Urahara, “but at least we have time at all. If not for your quick action, Kurosaki-san, we may not have been so fortunate.”

Ichigo swallows hard and forces himself not to consider dire alternatives. “So, tell me the plan. What do you need me to do?”

“I’ve scoured the city for Ishida-kun’s soul,” announces Isshin in an uncharacteristically straightforward manner. “There’s no sign of him on the mortal plane.”

“That means he made it to Soul Society, right?”

“Most likely,” Urahara agrees. “The problem we face now is finding him as swiftly as possible. You see, the longer Ishida-san’s soul is separated from his body—”

“Yeah, I get it,” Ichigo snaps, not in the mood for long-winded explanations. “I’ll call Rukia to have her open the gate.”

“She and Abarai-san are already on their way to usher you through,” says the shopkeeper. “There is one more thing you should know, Kurosaki-san.”

As if everyone in the room is aware except Ichigo, they gravely peer anywhere but at him.

“What is it?”

“I mentioned this to you previously, but I must remind you that there is every possibility Ishida-san will not remember anything about his life, including you. Getting him to go along with the procedure of his own volition may be a challenge.”

“If he doesn’t remember, I’ll remind him,” Ichigo confidently asserts. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll just kidnap him.”

Frowning disdainfully, Ishida’s dad argues, “Gaining Uryuu’s consent is essential. If a bond of this nature is forced upon one of the participants, it could cause severe complications or worse.”

“ _Shit_ …” Ichigo grunts under his breath. Talk about an inconvenient constraint!

“Relax, Ryuuken! My son can be extremely persuasive when necessary. Besides, we both know your son has a soft spot for mine. It shouldn’t take much to convince him Ichigo is trustworthy.”

The hospital director’s frown deepens but he doesn’t debate Isshin’s embarrassing insinuations. For his part, Ichigo ignores the way his face flushes in lieu of staying focused on the main topic.

“Once I bring him back, then what happens?”

“Then we implement the procedure with your assistance and hope for the best.”

“‘Hope for the best’?” gripes Ichigo. “That’s all you’ve got, Urahara-san?”

“I’m afraid so. I would have liked to fine-tune the details a bit more but Fate is not so kind to her constituents.”

Crossing his arms with a lop-sided scowl, he presses, “How does this ‘bond’ thing work, anyway?”

“In theory, it will function in much the same way for you and Ishida-san as the Hollow cure did for your parents. Your souls will be inextricably connected until one or both of you permanently pass on. Ah, but be warned, Kurosaki-san: there is a strong chance neither of you will have access to your spiritual abilities for the rest of your lives.”

Although it makes him want to puke just thinking about being powerless forever, Ichigo says, “I understand that. It’s still worth it as long as Ishida doesn’t have to die.” He turns away from them all as he sighs and mutters, “It’s my fault this is happening to him anyway. Least I can do is try to fix it.”

“You are not to blame for Uryuu’s predicament,” Ishida’s father sternly states. Ichigo turns around to respectfully regard the man as he continues, “If you must blame anyone, blame Yhwach for being the reason my son sought power to oppose him. Rather than causing Uryuu’s eventual demise, you contributed greatly to preserving his life during that conflict. If your primary motivation for submitting to this arrangement is guilt—”

“It’s not.” The resounding truth of his words brooks no doubt. “Ishida-san, to me…your son has become a precious person. I would never be able to live with myself if I didn’t do everything I could for him.”

The stunned hush that follows is wildly uncomfortable but Ichigo doesn’t regret saying it. Until Isshin starts sniffling and tearing up as he blubbers, “My boy has become such a good man. Go forth and rescue your love with my blessing, Ichigo!”

“Who said anything about love, idiot!?” he screeches at his dumb dad but the buffoon is crying too loudly to hear him. “I already told you Ishida’s my friend—just a friend!”

Even though they’ve hugged once and kissed twice, but these nosy old farts don’t need to know that.

Fed up with the farce, Ichigo leaves to cool off in the hall. Once he’s there he can’t help glancing toward the room where Ishida is lying. As much as he wants to see his friend and reassure himself that he’s still alive, artificial soul notwithstanding, he knows he wouldn’t be able to handle it. Finding Ishida on the lawn like that right after their fight was traumatic enough.

Ichigo leans against the wall and shuts his eyes on a measured breath. It can’t end the way they left it, all shredded and tender like a fresh wound. The kind that won’t heal without resolution on both ends. Besides, he still needs to tell Ishida…What? That Ichigo is an immature dunce who doesn’t deserve him as a friend? Ishida already knows that. And he loves Ichigo anyway.

Ishida loves him.

It’s the first time he has let himself acknowledge it in actual words rather than abstract concepts. Ishida is in love with him and has been for who knows how long and Ichigo would never have found out if none of this had happened. It took Ishida being on his _deathbed_ for Ichigo to really notice the boy in the full sense of the term. How shitty is that?

His spine snaps straight when a dual flare of unmistakable reiatsu appears right outside of the shop. A moment later, Rukia and Renji walk through the front door.

“Let’s go,” Ichigo says and heads outside without further comment. He pays no mind to their befuddled expressions but pauses when Urahara emerges to see them off. “How much time do I have?”

Expression shifting sympathetic, he grimly replies, “Hours, Kurosaki-san. You have mere hours to complete your task.”

“What!? But that’s…”

“I’m so sorry to have to say this, but if you don’t return with Ishida-san by dawn, the link between body and soul may be too corroded to repair. Then no one will be able to help him.”

It roils and sears in his gut like a belly full of acid. Ichigo clenches his hands into fists at his sides and tells his escorts, “Open the gate. We need to leave _now_.”

He hates how calm and pleasant the weather is in Soul Society tonight. It should be pouring down buckets of freezing cold rain. There should be nothing but black clouds swathing the sky and blotting out all the stupidly sparkly stars. There should be thunder and lightning and tumultuous winds haranguing the crappy little Rukongai village he traces Ishida’s reiraku to—after nearly an hour spent painstakingly singling his out from all the others—because there’s already a storm inside him threatening to burst loose and rage rampant.

Instead, there’s a full moon beaming elegant pearlescent light down on the filthy backwater streets where his friend has been banished to rot for eons. Only he’s not going to let that happen.

Ichigo finds him peacefully reclining against the base of a tall maple tree wearing a dark green threadbare yukata someone in the village probably gave him before he wandered toward the woods alone. He wants to stroll straight up to him and start talking like their lives are on the line but Rukia already warned him against it.

She explained that what felt like a minute for Ichigo to cross through the gate is more like a decade or more for the average soul. This is because they don’t travel directly the way Shinigami do. They drift around between dimensions with dubious timelines as black butterflies until they find their ultimate destination, however long it takes, and regain a human shape once inside Soul Society. This is also why many souls lose their memories or even their personalities in transit.

Ishida may not be Ishida anymore.

At least he still looks like himself, Ichigo thinks as he surreptitiously moves closer under cover of night’s darkest shadows. No glasses, of course, and he wonders if Ishida is still nearsighted in the afterlife.

Maybe not, he decides as blue eyes snap open to fix on him from afar. Ichigo stops, waiting for him to recognize a familiar figure and call out his name in surprise. Then they can leap into each other’s arms, teary-eyed and bright-smiled with relief for being reunited so soon.

Reality sets in hard as Ishida sits up to call out, “If you’re planning to rob me, let me save you some time by saying I don’t have a yen to my name.”

Did somebody attack him already? Ichigo will flay them alive!

“I’m not here to rob you. I just wanna talk.”

“Isn’t that precisely what a thief would say?”

“I don’t know ‘cause I’m not a thief.”

“Then what are you?”

Slowly moving closer, Ichigo suggests, “You tell me.”

Ishida stands but holds his ground, studying him from head to feet. “You’re a Shinigami.”

Glorious, blissful hope blossoms in Ichigo’s heart. “Yeah, that’s—”

“I hate Shinigami.” Just like that, his hope turns to ash. “What does a Shinigami want with someone like me?”

Does he even know himself well enough to use the phrase ‘someone like me’?

“What’s your name?” Ishida purses his lips because he can’t answer and doesn’t appreciate being asked. “Does ‘Ishida Uryuu’ ring any bells?”

Scoffing and folding his arms across his chest, he mocks, “What kind of ridiculous name is ‘Uryuu’?”

Ichigo wants to laugh but he settles for a smirk. “It’s yours, actually.”

“I’m supposed to take your word on that?”

“I don’t see anyone else around here offering information about you.”

“Are you implying we know each other?”

“Yep,” Ichigo says with a smile. “We’re good friends.”

“You haven’t even told me your name.”

Stepping closer, he doesn’t stop until Ishida’s posture stiffens in wariness. “Remember me now?”

“No. And I think I would be able to recall the name of a ‘good friend’ who has bright orange hair.”

That snark, this guarded body language, his testy tone…It’s Ishida, all right. Ichigo’s smile widens to an elated grin.

“It’ll come to you. In the meantime, is it cool if we sit and talk?”

Swiveling to walk away, Ishida replies, “No.”

The grin slides right off Ichigo’s face. “Hey, wait! I seriously need to talk to you. It’s important.”

“What could be important at this time of night?”

The reminder has Ichigo glancing up to gauge the time by moon and stars but he’s never been a natural at navigating by constellations. His gaze idly sweeps around their surroundings next. They’re walking side-by-side along the loamy bank of a narrow river leading further from the village. Ishida doesn’t seem worried about leaving it behind as he explores the rural scenery on a midnight stroll.

Ichigo looks down and notices Ishida doesn’t have any shoes.

“Hey, hold on,” Ichigo says, taking off his sandals and freely offering them. “Wear these. There are a lot of pebbles through here.” He stares for a moment before turning his nose up at the gesture. “Just take them, Ishida. My socks have rigid soles, so I’m good.”

“If I take them will you leave me alone?”

“Nope. But at least you’ll be more comfortable. And I’ll keep pestering you until you do.”

“Fine,” he snaps and snatches them from Ichigo’s loose grasp. He pauses to put them on before continuing without a word of thanks. Definitely Ishida.

“Where are we going?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not to me. I’m just wondering if you think you have somewhere else to be.” Ichigo earns a glare for that flippant observation. “Can I ask you something?”

“What?” His tone is irritable even if his expression is mostly neutral.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” Ishida looks at him then, searching Ichigo’s features as though there are answers etched there for anyone to read. “Most people in Rukongai see a Shinigami and run for cover but you’re not even tense around me.”

“I don’t know,” Ishida admits somewhat defensively. “I just get the impression you’re…”

“Totally harmless?”

“Decidedly not,” he disagrees with a pointed glance at the swords crossed behind Ichigo’s back. “If you wanted something from me you would’ve tried to take it by now. Whether or not you are ill-intentioned, panicking won’t change the outcome. Neither will trying to run or fight, so the logical response is to stay calm.”

“Logic, huh? Sure it’s not just a gut feeling that I’d never hurt you?”

“Unless you’re a psychopath, you have nothing to gain by hurting me. So, the only other thing you could want…” Ishida promptly averts his eyes and omits the rest of that thought.

“What?”

“Never mind,” he dismisses and picks up the pace. As if Ichigo is going to be dissuaded by an uptick in speed.

“The fact that you don’t wanna tell me just makes me more curious.” No response. Ichigo leans forward to catch his gaze as they walk. He wheedles, “Come on, Ishida. Tell meee~”

Instead of telling him anything, he haltingly asks, “A-are you…interested in men?”

Blinking dumbly at that, Ichigo considers the question as well as the reason it was brought up. “You think I’m following you because I want to…?”

Ishida’s discomfiture skyrockets. “I didn’t say that! It would just make sense, that’s all. H-hypothetically.”

“Right,” Ichigo allows. Considering his options carefully, he casually ventures, “What if I did want to?”

Their footsteps gradually slow to a stop and they turn to face each other. Ishida appears to be a tad nervous but still not afraid, which seems like a positive sign. He tenses when Ichigo moves closer, but he doesn’t retreat. Another positive sign.

“You’re a Shinigami,” Ishida comments as if it’s self-explanatory.

“So?”

“So, why would you travel all the way to the outer rings of Rukongai and proposition a random, completely unremarkable soul when you could—”

“You’re not random, Ishida. I already told you we know each other. And calling yourself ‘unremarkable’ is just…”

Ichigo’s gaze drifts lower as he compares the word with Ishida and deems them incompatible because the longer he stares, the longer he’s inclined to stare. Not for the first time, he thinks Ishida looks uncommonly handsome in traditional clothes.

“Even if you’re telling the truth and we have met before, surely there are more attractive options available to someone of your station.” He’s trying to act apathetic but moonlight showcases a modest blush.

Easing nearer still, Ichigo holds intense eye contact as he deflects, “Do you think I’m an ‘attractive option’?”

Ishida breaks their gaze and mumbles, “I don’t see how that would make any difference in this context.”

“It makes all the difference. I wouldn’t touch you if you didn’t want me to.”

That has him seeking Ichigo’s eyes again to find the verification of his gallant statement there. Being this close has him thinking about that desperate kiss earlier and how it felt for the second or two Ishida allowed it. Ichigo didn’t just do it to win the argument, although that was indeed the catalyst. He kissed Ishida because he wanted to. He still does.

He raises a hand to touch the side of Ishida’s face as he leans in.

“Kn-knock it off, Kurosaki,” he says, turning his head and brushing off Ichigo’s hand.

Suddenly, he doesn’t care that his attempted kiss is thwarted. His eyes flare as he incredulously breathes, “What did you call me?”

Ishida makes a face and reluctantly repeats, “Kurosaki…? Is that your name?”

“You know it is or you wouldn’t have said it.” Triumph speeds Ichigo’s pulse because he can’t deny the obvious. “Do you believe me now?”

“I don’t know what to believe,” he says unhappily. “You, me, this place…I have no idea what’s going on and I can’t shake the feeling I’m supposed to be somewhere but I can’t remember how to get back.”

“Then come with me,” Ichigo begs, resisting a potent urge to grab his arm and drag him back to his own body. “I know where you belong. I can take you there.”

Blue eyes scrutinize him for so long he gets anxious jitters. Ishida shakes his head and murmurs, “None of this feels right. How am I supposed to choose?”

“You need to trust me, Ishida. I swear I’ll make everything right if you just _trust me_.”

“Why should I?”

On the verge of an emotional explosion, Ichigo’s breath hitches as he proclaims, “Because I love you!” Ishida’s shock at hearing it is nothing compared to his own for saying it, but there’s no doubt in his mind. As soon as it is voiced, pieces fit together inside and make whole something he never realized was broken. “I love you, and it’s my fault everything is so messed up. Please let me fix it?”

He still doesn’t seem convinced and Ichigo is certain he’s going to collapse into a useless heap if Ishida won’t even try to open up after hearing all of this.

Regardless of what he said a minute ago, Ichigo can’t wait for permission. He holds Ishida’s face in both hands and presses their mouths together. One second. Two. Three, and Ichigo stops waiting to be shoved off. He pours everything into it, humming in pleasant surprise when Ishida starts kissing him back.

His mind is fuzzing over with passion he wasn’t aware he had simmering under the surface. Ishida coaxes it out of him with every subtle sound in the back of his throat, every sensual shift of his lips, every short inhale and warm exhale. His fingers curl into the fabric of Ichigo’s shihakusho to pull him closer rather than tear him off. That one small gesture triggers a disorienting flood of desire and it takes all of his willpower to withdraw before he tackles Ishida to the grass for a lot more than simple kissing.

He leans their foreheads together, thumbs slowly stroking over cheekbones, and concentrates on controlling his overeager blood.

“Ichigo,” he whispers, making the namesake freeze in astonishment. Ishida lifts his head to peer straight into his eyes as he says, “Your name is Ichigo, and I love you, too.”

He’s having the weirdest dream.

Something about Ishida being in his wacky sideways world, chatting with Zangetsu and the Hollow like they’re all old pals. There’s a part where red and white reiraku wind around and get tangled up with each other until there’s no telling where one ends and the other begins. Then there’s this awkward moment where they’re both naked but not in a sexual way since they’re floating in this strange not-space that reminds Ichigo of being deep underwater except they don’t need to breathe and he can see clearly.

It’s so weird that he wakes up confused, groggily rubbing at his face with his right hand because the left is occupied.

Occupied with what, he wonders.

Ichigo blinks open his eyes and discovers that his wrist has been tied to someone else’s, palms touching intimately and fingers loosely interlaced. The small links of a chain are pressed between their skin underneath the off-white strip of linen binding him to—His eyes jump upward to focus on the ones already staring back at him.

“Kurosa—”

“Uryuu!” he yelps and rolls to hug him, ignoring the startled cry it causes. “Thank god you’re okay!” Then Ichigo pushes up on an elbow to examine him as he checks, “You’re okay, right?”

Ishida looks okay. He looks really healthy, actually, with color in his cheeks and an alert glint in his eyes. His hair is messy against the pillow and his expression is flustered but otherwise he seems completely normal.

“I-I think so,” he responds at length. “Why are we…?” A glance at their joined hands finishes the sentiment for him.

Sitting upright and thinking back to the ‘Quincy magic ritual’ that was performed just before dawn, Ichigo says, “Urahara-san said we have to stay in contact for a while to make sure the bond sticks, or something like that.”

“Bond…?” Moving to mirror his position, Ishida’s voice is tinged with trepidation when he asks, “How long is ‘a while’?”

“Uh, I think he said twenty-four hours? Well, a little less now since we’ve been asleep all morning.”

Although he pales to hear it, he mutters, “Could be worse, I suppose.”

“Yeah, you could still be in Soul Society— _permanently_ —because your stubborn ass forgot all about me and refused to listen when I did the whole ‘come with me if you want to live’ spiel.”

A flat glare communicates how remorseful Ishida isn’t. “Who would listen to you in that situation? I was _dead_ , Kurosaki, so cut me some slack.” His features do flash remorseful to see Ichigo wince at his words, though.

“Does that mean you remember what happened?”

“Yes,” Ishida quietly confirms, suddenly fascinated with his own lap. “I’m not angry. You did what you had to do and I can’t blame you for going to extremes.”

“Extremes? Wait, do you think I only said those things so you’d trust me?” He doesn’t answer, but that in itself is an answer. Ichigo’s fingers tighten around the ones slotted between his. “Uryuu, look at me.” He won’t do it. Ichigo has to hold a hand to his jaw before he relents and raises his gaze. “I wouldn’t say that sort of thing if I didn’t mean it.”

“You would have said anything to get me back here.”

“Yeah, because _I love you_.” Ishida pushes his arm away so he can avoid the truth of it in Ichigo’s eyes. “I love you, Uryuu.”

“Stop saying that,” he protests, nowhere near his typical snarky tone. “It’s not fair when you know I can’t get away from you.”

Noting the way his face is blazing with embarrassment, Ichigo takes pity on him and drops it for now.

They lapse into an uneasy silence for several minutes. He takes in the familiar layout of Urahara’s guest room serving as a recuperation unit and tries not to think about how many times they’ve needed it over the years. After Yhwach, he was sincerely hoping they would never need it again but there’s always _something_ , isn’t there? At least this time it ended with saving a life instead of taking one.

Scrubbing at his hair, Ichigo says, “Don’t freak out, but you should know the only way Urahara-san could save you was by, um…kinda tethering our souls together. He said it shouldn’t affect our daily lives too much, though. We got lucky with keeping our powers, too.”

“Why did I need saving in the first place?” he worriedly asks. “What happened to me last night?”

“Short answer? Your dad lied about the issue with your reiryoku being harmless.”

“ _That’s_ what killed me?” Ichigo nods solemnly. “But…why?”

“You’d have to ask one of them for specifics,” he says with a tilt of his head toward the door. “All I know is it’s that bastard Yhwach’s fault.”

Leveling a pensive stare on their entwined hands, Ishida murmurs more to himself, “And your reiryoku is the cure…” Then he flicks his eyes to Ichigo’s as a disturbing notion arises. “You knew all along, didn’t you? The extra time you spent with me over the past few months…was it just your way of mourning me?”

“No!” Ishida’s skeptical gaze pressures him to admit, “I don’t think so.” It’s Ichigo’s turn to look away as he sighs. “Maybe at first, but the more we hung out the less it was about that. Mostly, I just wanted to be around you.” His grip on Ishida’s hand tightens of its own accord when he considers how close he came to never being around the boy again. “And yeah, it was painful to be with you thinking you could die any minute but being apart was even more painful. The week after you kissed me was one of the worst weeks of my life.”

Technically, it was nine days. Nine days of radio silence from Ishida and the sole reassurance Ichigo ever got that he was still fine came by the grace of sharing homeroom at school.

Ishida pulls his knees up toward his chest and wraps his free arm around them as he ponders that revelation. He must be picking up on the rogue elements of accusation in Ichigo’s demeanor because he defensively confesses, “I was humiliated, Kurosaki. From my perspective, you were suddenly showing such interest in our friendship that I wasn’t sure how to take it. Then, the day of the matsuri, I thought you were sending signals about being interested in more than just friendship.”

“Signals?”

At his blank look, Ishida elaborates, “Bringing up your sister’s orientation and asking about mine, for one. Offering to help dress me, for two, and not to mention the way you paused with your hand on my chest.”

“Uh, right,” mumbles Ichigo, hoping he won’t ask what that was about. “I guess I can see how—”

“Later, at the festival itself you ditched your friends and brought me up to the shrine alone, then proceeded to scare the hell out of me by…” He trails off as he reevaluates their discussion and Ichigo’s vehemence that he not give up on his power. Ishida touches palm to forehead as he grits, “Unbelievable. That wasn’t even about me, was it? You just wanted to be comforted.”

“Can you blame me, Uryuu? I was having nightmares about you dying every damn day!”

“Whatever,” he says with a defeated sigh as he drops his hand to glance at Ichigo. “My point is I misinterpreted your _concern_ for interest and acted impulsively when you wouldn’t get off my porch. How was I supposed to face you after that? I felt like the biggest idiot for thinking you could ever—”

“I do! What’s it gonna take for you to believe me?” The way he shakes his head makes Ichigo’s stomach clench. “I’m slow sometimes, okay? You’ll be the first to tell me how slow I am, so it shouldn’t be surprising that it took me a while to figure everything out. But it doesn’t mean I’m lying or confused when I say I love you. And you can’t blame it on the bond, either, ‘cause I said it before Urahara-san synced us up.”

Ishida gives him this squinty, judgmental glare that makes Ichigo feel incredibly dumb but he’s not taking any of it back. If they weren’t already holding hands, he’d grab Ishida’s right now in emphasis. Instead, Ichigo lifts it up between them and watches Ishida’s eyes widen as he kisses the back of it.

“What are you doing!?”

“Taking advantage of the fact that you’re trapped,” he says with a smirk he turns into another kiss.

“S-stop that!”

“Sure. If you give me something better to kiss.”

Ichigo starts to plant a third smooch but Ishida jerks their hands away. A minor squabble ensues, characterized by a lot of ineffectual flailing and an awkward arm wrestling match that Ichigo wins. The result is Ishida pressed into the futon with Ichigo braced above him, wearing a victorious smile. Ishida’s hair is even messier for it and the bright stain on his cheeks is steadily spreading to his chest.

“ _Kurosaki_ ,” he growls when Ichigo won’t let himself be budged.

Playfulness ceding to solemnity, he pronounces, “I love you, Uryuu, and I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it. I love you. I lo—”

Ishida’s palm seals to his mouth, muffling further declarations of adulation. And here Ichigo was hoping he’d use his lips instead.

“Will you please _shut up_?” Ishida requests with more exasperation than annoyance. “If this is the type of tenacity I should expect from a relationship with you, the future does not seem promising.”

The words ‘relationship’ and ‘future’ detonate inside Ichigo’s heart like twin bombs of blinding joy.

Gently drawing Ishida’s hand away, he leans down with deliberate slowness as he makes his next goal known. Ichigo searches his eyes for genuine dissent, only continuing when he detects none. He pauses one more time, lips centimeters from Ishida’s, and counts three light breaths before closing the final distance.

Or at least, that’s Ichigo’s plan until it gets foiled by Ishida leaning up to close it himself.


End file.
